The Great War
by ProdigalSnake
Summary: A song of ice and fire is a battle between good and evil, living and dead, fire and ice. In the Great War, the squabbling between Lions, Wolves, Stags, and Dragons will prove to be insignificant at most and dooming at worst. A rewrite of Game of Thrones Season 8. Jon/Daenerys, Gendry/Arya, Tyrion/Sansa
1. Chapter 1

***Author's Note: After watching episode 4 of season 8, I can no longer sit still while D&D burn down the legacy that is Game of Thrones. I'm not going to go into details about why I feel this way, nor do you have to agree with me, this is simply a rewrite of what I believe season 8 should have been like.**

**I do not own any of the characters from Game of Thrones.**

* * *

**Chapter 1 – The Queen's Arrival**

It was a regular day at Winterfell; a thin layer of snow covered the ground from the flurries that have been falling ever since winter came. A cold morning breeze made its way through the crowd that lined up the road to the keep. Quill, a boy of nine, was trying to push through the adults to get a glimpse of the incoming royal procession with little success. He could hear the faint sound of snow crunching from the steps of the soldiers in the distance and he knew he had little time before the Dragon Queen and the King of the North passed by.

"Maybe somewhere a little higher up," said a voice from behind him, taking him by surprise. He quickly turned around and saw a girl in light leather armor with a small fur cloak held together by a direwolf sigil, equipped with a skinny sword and dagger. The girl then nodded toward a tall tree in the distance and her words finally registered in the little boy's mind. "Go on."

As the boy was about to make his way toward the tall tree, his mother's voice reminded him of his manners and more importantly of something else. '_The direwolf sigil!_' "Wait, you're…" But before he could confirm it again with his own eyes, the girl was gone without leaving so much as footprints behind. What replaced her instead was a small iron helmet that seemed would fit just right.

After donning on his new helmet, Quill made his way up the tree and was blown away by the sight. Countless soldiers covered the white horizon as they uniformly marched down the road. Men covered from head to toe in black leather equipped with large shields and spears were followed by foreign men with hair longer than his sister's on horseback. As Quill examined them one by one, he heard people around him begin to mumble as he looked up. Slowly but surely, two people emerged from over the hill and even though he had never seen them before, Quill knew without a doubt that they were the Dragon Queen and the King in the North. As if on cue, two loud roars resonated from the sky as two dragons, one black and one green, with wings that covered the sky flew over them, causing panic to those that stood on the ground. The mythical creatures passed by as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind a sense of awe, wonder and fear in the boy as he felt the wind created by those great wings on his face. '_They're beautiful._'

* * *

"Achoo!" Daenerys sniffled as she tried to resume her dignified pose as Jon stifled a laugh. "What's so funny?"

"I told you, you should have worn more furs."

"I'm not cold."

"Oh yeah? Then why'd you sneeze?"

"People don't have to be cold to sneeze." Jon simply smirked again at her response and she couldn't help rolling her eyes a little. Sometimes she wonders how she fell in love with someone who could be so stubborn and stupid. She then felt the gazes of the northmen fall upon her, their eyes that were void of the love she usually received made her shoulders feel a bit heavier.

"Northerners don't much trust outsiders. They'll warm up once they see you for who you are," said Jon as he noticed how uncomfortable she was getting.

Suddenly, the Unsullied in front of her stopped moving and all raised their spears in one direction. "What happened?" asked Daenerys as she looked over and saw a small boy with an iron helmet who was frightened out of his mind. "_Dīnagon ilagon aōha weapons. Ivestragī zirȳla rȳ. _(Put down your weapons. Let him through.)"

"Khaleesi…" said Jorah as he realized his Queen's intentions. "Don't let appearances fool you, children have been sent to assassinate you before."

"How can the northmen trust me if I don't show some trust first?"

"Dany…" It was Jon who spoke up this time but before he could finish, Daenerys repeated back to him what he said before.

"They'll warm up once they see me for who I am, well this is who I am. I'm not afraid of children. Let him through." The Unsullied followed their orders but remained vigilant as the small boy slowly approached her and with shaking hands offered up his dirty scarf. With such an adorable gesture, Daenerys couldn't help but smile warmly back at the boy. "Thank you very much! I've never seen a finer scarf; I must keep it." She then reached into one of the packs on her saddle and gave the boy one of her scarfs. "How about a trade then?"

The boy felt the clean and smooth fabric in his hand and nodded instantly. After giving a small bow, the child went back into the crowd and the procession began moving again. Despite making a trade that would make scarf merchants around the world cry in agony, Daenerys was feeling much better than before. It didn't matter if the northmen didn't accept her yet, she was coming to claim the Iron Throne to make the world a better place for boys like him. As Jon said, people's acceptance will come after.

"That was a wonderful thing you did," said Jon.

"Perhaps you should learn a few things from that boy," said Daenerys as she beamed a smile at him that left him speechless.

When they arrived at the courtyard of Winterfell, Jon was the first to enter as he urged his horse to go faster the moment he saw Bran. He nearly fell off his horse from how fast he dismounted and immediately brought his younger brother in for a hug. "Look at you, you're a man."

"Almost," said Bran as he gave a smile back.

Jon then moved to embrace his sister, Sansa, who examined the Dragon Queen behind him. "Where's Arya?" he asked as he looked around for his baby sister.

"Lurking, somewhere," said Sansa.

Jon then turned to Daenerys as he prepared to introduce her to his family and the lords of the North. But before he could even begin, Bran spoke up first, "Apologies, Your Grace, but we do not have time for formalities. The dead have breached the wall with the help of your dragon, Viserion. They march south as we speak."

The sudden mention of her dead child rocked her as Daenerys tried not to think about how her dragon's body was being desecrated by the White Walker's dark magic. "How do you know?" she asked shakily.

Instead of answering, Bran simply rolled back his eyes. Suddenly, the courtyard became eerily quiet except for the soft sound of wings flapping. Before anyone had realized what was going on, the walls of Winterfell were filled with sentries of crows all staring down at them. The crows watched them without moving a muscle as if possessed, and not even the stoic Jon Snow could hide his surprise. Bran then stopped his warging abilities and the crows went back to their normal behaviors.

Daenerys drew in a deep breath and tried to calm down; despite her various encounters with magic, she had never seen anything like that before. Once her emotions were under control again, the only thing left was anger. Not only had they killed one of her dragons, but they had enslaved it in death. "So be it, if the White Walkers want a war then House Targaryen shall give them one with fire and blood. The Great War begins now."

* * *

***Author's Note: Thank you for reading and feel free to leave behind any comments/thoughts/criticisms you may have, there's nothing I like more than reading reviews!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – Reunions**

"As soon as we heard about the wall, I called all of our banners to retreat to Winterfell," said Sansa who sat to the right of Jon at the front of the room. "Lord Umber, when can we expect your people to arrive?"

The little lord popped his head out and stood up shyly. "We need more horses and wagons if it please, My Lady…and My Lord…and My Queen…sorry."

"You'll have as many as we can spare. Hurry back to Last Hearth and bring your people here."

"No." Everybody in the room turned their head to see who dared oppose the Lady of Winterfell and to their surprise, it was, the cripple, Bran Stark. "Your people are already on their way to Winterfell. I've arranged ravens and other means as soon as the wall fell. Likewise, with the other houses and Night's Watch that are not with us right now."

"Bran, you can't be making decisions like that without consulting us. How are all those people going to get here without logistic support when the winter roads are in full effect?" said Sansa with a slight rebuking tone.

"If you had sent him back to Last Hearth, he would have died." The room became dead silent as he continued. "His body would have been nailed to a wall, surrounded by the limbs of his bannermen. Then he would have been burned to die a second death."

"Bran!" It was Jon this time that had to stop his brother from going any further; the young Lord Umber was on the brink of tears as he listened to the description of his horrific death and many of the northern lords seemed shaken by his words.

Jon's voice seemed to have stirred him out of his vision as the light in Bran's eyes returned back to the present. "I'm sorry," he said to the boy who was only a few name days younger than him. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Well you sure as hell frightened me," said a voice from the other side of the table. The half-man got up from his chair and slowly walked in front of the table so that everyone could see him. "With how scary the White Walkers already are, we don't need to be adding to their numbers. Luckily, if its logistic support you are looking for, we just so happen to have the largest khalasar in the world with us. That should be more than enough to expedite the retreat," said Tyrion as he looked to Daenerys who gave a nod of approval.

"Your Grace!" It was Lyanna Mormont, the young lady of Bear Island, who stood up next. "But you're not, are you? You left Winterfell a king and came back a…I'm not sure what you are now. A lord? Nothing at all?"

"It's not important," said Jon quietly.

"Not important? We named you King in the North. A king's knee should not bend so easily." The rest of the lords in the room agreed in unison as Lady Mormont took her seat.

"You did name me King in the North," said Jon finally. "It was the honor of my life, and I will always be grateful for your faith." He then stood up from his seat as he continued with a hardened tone. "But a king does what's best for his people. Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall, didn't bend his knee and his people were slaughtered for it at Hardhome. I had a choice: keep my crown or protect the North. I chose the North. And I want to make another thing clear, I didn't bend the knee just because she has a great army for even Cersei Lannister has that. No, I bent the knee because I have faith in Daenerys Stormborn, just like how you had faith in me. So I ask you, My Lords, to give her a chance. For she too had a choice: to come to fight with us or to claim the Iron Throne. And she chose us."

With those words said, Jon sat back down as the northern lords' earlier discontentment began to waver. Jon then turned to Sansa and she could see how much he wanted her to trust Daenerys as well, and for a moment, she wished she could go back to be the naïve girl that believed in the good in everybody, but she couldn't. '_Sometimes when I try to understand a person's motives, I play a little game._' She could already hear the voice of Petyr Baelish playing in her head. '_Assume the worst._'

"May I ask, how we meant to feed this great army?" When the words left her mouth, she could see the pain in her brother's eyes, but she too did what she did for the good of the North. "While I ensured that our stores would last through winter, I didn't account for Dothraki, Unsullied and two full-grown dragons. What do dragons eat anyway?"

"Whatever they want," said Daenerys without showing a thing on her face as Sansa turned to face her.

"They eat anything we feed them," said Tyrion quickly as he tried to defuse the situation. "A little bit more on the carnivorous side but that won't be a problem. After our attack on the loot train from High Garden, we managed to recover a substantial amount of food that will arrive shortly from White Harbor." Despite his attempt at creating peace, the two women were still shooting death glares at each other. "So…let's just all be friends…"

* * *

'_When did being Hand of the Queen become so hard?_' thought Tyrion as he looked down at the Winterfell courtyard. It was busy with the last of the dragonglass-filled wagons moving in and people in charge of digging the trenches moving out. He then looked up across the balcony as his eyes caught a glimpse of the radiant red hair that was causing him so much headache right now and decided to confront the problem separately. '_Divide and conquer._'

He walked up to her just as she finished speaking with Yohn Royce, the Lord of Runestone and a powerful bannerman of House Arryn. What he meant to say was 'My Lady,' but what came out of his mouth instead was, "Sansa."

Sansa was slightly startled, curious of who was calling out to her with such familiarity, only to find her first husband standing there before her. Before Tyrion could correct himself, she responded, "Tyrion."

He was glad that she wasn't using any formalities as he knew that was one of her defense mechanisms back at the capital. But apart from that, he was also happy that she used his name as he had asked the night of their wedding. "The Lady of Winterfell has a nice ring to it."

"So does Hand of the Queen…depending on the Queen, I suppose." The last part reminded Tyrion of why he was here. As much as he would like to reminisce about having such a beautiful wife, his purpose here was to perform diplomacy.

"Last time we spoke was at Joffrey's wedding. Miserable affair."

"It had its moments."

Tyrion looked up in surprise and slight shock. "I see you have picked up some of Littlefinger's sense of dark humor."

"It's too bad, I found your jokes a lot funnier," said Sansa as she looked away for a moment. "I'm sorry, for leaving like that."

"Pity, you missed one of the greatest trials in the history of Westeros. The Crown v. Tyrion Lannister." Unfortunately, Tyrion could not keep up the humor for long as he remembered what Shae did. "Though I suppose it was for the best, it ended up being quite a farce."

"Well, we're both still alive."

"Ah yes, thank the gods for keeping me alive long enough to see dead men trying to literally end the world."

'I'm glad you're still alive. The world needs more men like you,' but the words remained stuck in her throat and unsaid. She couldn't afford to show that kind of emotion, that would be weakness and weaknesses are exploited. Instead, what she needed to do now was prop up the position of the North so that when the need arises, they'll be able to reclaim their independence. "The deal with Cersei, you know it'll fall through, right?"

"I'd like to believe that she has something to live for now," said Tyrion as he sighed, "but knowing my sister, yes. She'll most likely renege completely or send the minimum number of troops to appear as if she is still cooperating."

"Why bother even having a deal then?"

"Because on the off chance that she does have a change in heart, we would have won a powerful ally. If she doesn't, then once we win the Great War, the high lords of Westeros will know who the right monarch is. She won't last long on the Throne without any support and the transition into Queen Daenerys' rule will be much smoother."

"And if we lose?"

"Then there's not much use talking about it, is there?"

After a brief pause, Sansa spoke once more, "I assume Queen Daenerys sent you here to talk to me regarding what happened during the meeting earlier."

"It seems you have uncovered my intentions," said Tyrion as he chuckled, "but it wasn't Daenerys that sent me, I wanted to speak to you."

"If it's about not undermining her authority during meetings, then I've already heard a version of it from Jon."

"No, your concerns were more than valid and befitting of a good leader," said Tyrion as he walked a bit closer so that she could no longer avoid looking at him. "I would just like you to consider what your brother has said. That Daenerys would make for a good Queen and that a consolidated realm is beneficial to everyone, including the North."

Sansa considered pointing out all the flaws of such an optimistic outlook, but she decided to hold her tongue, it was best not to antagonize herself too much against Daenerys' party. Noticing the heavy turn the conversation took, Tyrion decided to tell one last joke to end on a lighter note. "Think of your poor husband, how will he ever keep his job if he can't even convince his wife to side with his Queen?"

Even though she didn't want to laugh, his fake sad tone as he pretended to be in distress really sold the performance. Her poker face cracked as she pressed her lips together to suppress the grin. "I'll think on it more," said Sansa as she walked past him to attend to her other duties.

"Thank you for hearing me out and have a nice day, My Lady."

"You too, my dear husband," she said without looking back at the shell-shocked Tyrion. He was so used to his jokes falling flat from hanging out with Varys, Grey Worm and Missandei that he never expected Sansa to play along. Despite achieving his objective, his opponent still somehow managed to leave with the last word that left him feeling outplayed and somewhat awkward.

* * *

Jon stood alone in the middle of the Godswood as he meditated quietly. So much has happened in such a short time span and while most of it has been good news with the addition of new allies and the reunion of his family, the threat of the Night King has finally arrived. There are no more walls to hide behind now, their tallest one should have been their biggest advantage but the squabbling of the seven kingdoms has caused it to fall before they were even able to defend it properly against the real threat.

His father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, was said to always be able to find solace in this place. But rather than peace, he could only feel more weight on his shoulder. People looked to him for answers that he didn't have, and he didn't know whether he was capable enough to find those answers. His last major decision got himself murdered by his own brothers of the Night's Watch, and while Davos told him to go fail again, he wasn't sure he could afford to do so anymore. His next failure may very well spell the end of the world as they knew it.

"You used to be taller," said a voice behind him, catching him by surprise. He didn't hear any footsteps approach him and his hand went to Longclaw by instinct. But the moment he turned around to see who it was, he could only smile as he saw his baby sister. They quickly shared a tight embrace and once they finally separated, Jon took another look at her. Gone was the wild girl that used to cause so much trouble in their younger days, the person standing in front of him now was a warrior, something Arya always wanted to be.

"You still have it," said Jon as he looked down on the sword he had given her when he left for the Night's Watch.

"Needle," she said as she drew it.

"Have you had to use it?" he asked, knowing what the answer most likely was. He never intended for her to use it as a tool for killing. It was meant as a gift to let her know that he fully supported what she wanted to do with her life, despite how "un-ladylike" it was. He didn't know it then but taking another person's life is an experience that can't be taken back. Some people get a taste of it and it leads them down a dark path, a path he hoped Arya wasn't on.

"Once or twice," she responded. "I followed your advice. I stuck them with the handle, and they went running to the hills."

Jon laughed for the first time in a long time when Arya began jabbing him with Needle's handle. "Where were you before? I could have used your help with Sansa."

"She doesn't like your queen, does she?"

"Sansa thinks she's smarter than everybody else," said Jon with a sigh.

"She's the smartest person I've ever met."

"Eh, you're defending her? You?"

"I'm defending our family…so is she."

"I'm her family too," said Jon with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Don't forget that," said Arya as she smiled and brought him in for one more hug. "So…the Dragon Queen." The moment she said that she felt her brother stiffen a little as he awkwardly separated from their hug. "Doesn't the Night's Watch make you swear off women or something?"

"Actually, the exact words are 'I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children.'"

"Oh, so you guys aren't having sex or are yo-" Before she could finish, Jon covered her mouth with his gloved hand as he began ushering them back to the keep.

"That's enough from you."

* * *

***Author's Note: Thanks for reading and let me know what you guys think of the changes so far!**

**Guest: Thanks for the review, hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

**patrickthenobleman: I'll definitely also be watching it until the end, it's just that with two episodes left I simply don't see how they can fix the damage that they've done from a story-telling perspective. In my opinion, subversion of expectations needs to, at least to some degree, make sense (Arya teleporting out of darkness and Dany not seeing Euron's ships while on a dragon are sinful). I also agree that a traditional ending with the focus on the fight between good and evil would be a much better payoff for the seven seasons of buildup than Cersei being the final boss. Anyhow, that's why I wrote this fanfic and I'm glad you are enjoying it so far!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Rescue**

Cersei stood atop the walls of King's Landing overlooking Blackwater Bay. The sunshine and sea breeze created a peaceful atmosphere but what was bringing her the most peace right now was the sight of Euron's Iron Fleet bringing in one of the largest and most skilled sellsword company, The Golden Company. Despite the notorious unreliability of sellswords, the Golden Company is said to have never broken a contract. With their numbers added to the Lannister army, she'll have a fighting chance once the army of the dead weakens the Dragon Queen and Ned Stark's bastard. Only when she has killed every last one of them will she be truly at peace.

It was at that moment that Jaime's face flashed in her mind. That's right, she would have to kill her stupid, traitorous twin brother as well. She didn't want to admit it, but deep within the corners of her mind, she knew she didn't want to kill him despite his betrayal. Even now, she craved his touch and presence. She wished that he would come back, bring her in a warm embrace and apologize for hurting her. For what did she have now without him? She remembered the words of Robert Baratheon when he described his love for Lyanna Stark, 'seven kingdoms could not fill the hole she left behind.'

No, she was not the same as her late husband, she still had the child that was growing in her belly right now. She would protect this one no matter the cost. It didn't matter how many innocent civilians she would have to watch burn or how many dirty pirates she would need to whore herself out to. At the end of the day, if Jaime still decides to stand against her, then she will kill him as well.

Qyburn approached her in hurried strides, "Your Grace, I'm afraid I bring terrible news. The dead have broken through the Wall."

To his surprise, rather than being concerned or terrified, the Queen responded with a single word, "Good."

* * *

In the throne room, Cersei welcomed the captain-general of the Golden Company, Harry Strickland. "Twenty thousand men, is it?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Horses?"

"Two thousand."

"And elephants?"

"Forty."

"That's disappointing. I expected more."

"They are excellent beasts, Your Grace. But we limited our selection to the ones that were over sixty years old as they are more disciplined. Otherwise, one dragon's roar will send them running back, trampling our own soldiers."

"In any event, you are most welcome here in King's Landing, Captain Strickland. I look forward to seeing the Golden Company on the battlefield, I have heard tales of their skills and loyalty," said Cersei, with emphasis on the last part.

"Our word is good as gold, Your Grace, and we look forward to fighting on your behalf," said the blonde commander as he gave a short bow and exited the room.

"Am I most welcomed here?" asked Euron once the captain-general left the room.

"You are a true friend of the crown and an honored guest."

"Good, as a true friend and an honored guest…" Euron made his way up the steps to the Iron Throne but stopped in his track when Ser Gregor Clegane let out a low grunt. "I was hoping we could talk in private."

"After the war. That was our agreement."

"Wars sometimes last years."

"You want a whore, buy one. You want a queen…earn her," said Cersei as she got up to leave.

"I do want a queen," said Euron as he placed a hand over his heart, "but what do I do when the queen doesn't want me? I have given her justice, an army, and the Iron Fleet yet she gives me no sign of affection. My heart is nearly broken."

"You're insolent. I've executed men for less," said Cersei venomously.

"They were lesser men."

"Oh? And pray tell, what kind of man are you?"

"A man of great ambition!" said Euron as he expanded his arms and climbed up the steps to the same level as Cersei. "I've traveled all over the known world, sailed the Smoking Sea and walked the ruins of Valyria. I came back, took the Seastone Chair, raised the Iron Fleet and became the greatest captain of the fourteen seas. But I am not done! I want to ride dragons, kill dead men…have a prince with the most beautiful woman in the world."

Euron grinned handsomely as he approached Cersei but once again, the Mountain stood in his way. For a mad moment, he felt his hand twitch for his dagger. When Ser Gregor sensed the danger and was about to draw his sword, the Queen waved off her Queensguard. Euron smile only cracked wider as he finally closed the distance between them. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "If you are not willing, that's okay. I will just go chase something else."

Cersei looked him in the eyes, and he could see the disgust clear on her face. But he knew, as she did, that she had no real choice in this. He would get what he wants because she still needs him to fight against the Dragon Queen. As the two of them walked to her bedchambers, he felt a warmth spread within him as if he was getting drunk. When he pinned her on her back and took her every which way he wanted, the pleasure didn't come from her perfectly curved body but from her look of resignation.

* * *

Inside the Black Cells of the Red Keep, Ellaria Sand watched helplessly as the condition of her daughter, Tyene Sand, worsened. The girl was sweating profusely, and the symbolic nosebleed happened a few hours ago. The Long Farewell was a poison Tyene was familiar with, thus she had built a certain degree of resistance towards it. Furthermore, even with the expertise of a maester, one without links in the study of poison would have a hard time recreating a perfect version. But at the end of the day, death is certain. Tears rolled down the side of her face, losing Oberyn was gut-wrenching but she could not even begin imagining the loss of her daughter. It seems Doran was right all along; her blind pursuit of vengeance has led her to this point. The Lannisters should pay for the way they dishonored Dorne but not all Lannisters deserve it.

Myrcella did not deserve it. She understood this too late and now her daughter will pay for her mistake. She had hoped that Daenerys Targaryen would have stormed the city with her three dragons, but the girl is too soft-hearted for this war. She wishes to win with no bloodshed but that just meant no rescue is coming anytime soon. Tyene opened her eyes and looked at her, the bright and cheerful light that's usually there is no more. She knew how much pain her daughter must be in right now and she wondered if she blamed her mother for it all. She would deserve it.

Suddenly, the door to their cell burst open and despite her prayers, it was just the prison guards. They were changing the candles as they've been commanded by the Queen but after completing their task, rather than leave the two guards stayed in the cell. One of the guards whistled as he looked at Tyene, "Still alive, eh?"

Ellaria's heart rate began to speed up, she could see the hunger in the eyes of the men that were looking at her and her daughter. She begged all the gods for them to take her daughter away so that she didn't need to suffer through this. But her prayers were muffled by the cloth gag that was in her mouth. "I'll take this one and you can have the mother, then we can switch."

Tyene tried to fight off the man as he undressed and groped her but even at her best, her arms were chained to the wall. Ellaria could only close her eyes and give muffled apologies to her and to Oberyn who was in heaven for failing to protect her. "By the Seven, would you look at these ti-"

Before the man could finish, he collapsed on the ground in a pool of blood and brain matter from the crossbow shot through his eye. His companion tried to bring up his breeches and draw his weapon, but before he could get it halfway up his knee, his throat was slit with a long dirk. Ellaria thought that it would be the Dragon Queen's men but instead, it was a man in black ringmail over boiled leather armor. He looked like a common sellsword, but he moved like a trained rogue. Ellaria recognized this person as the man who was with Jaime Lannister when they visited Dorne, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.

The man moved faster than her thoughts as he ungagged her daughter and pressed a small vial up to her mouth. Her constitution improved almost immediately as her pale face began to color again and her breathing became less ragged. "Hello handsome," said Tyene with a smile. Bronn then moved on to unchaining them and once the gag was out of Ellaria's mouth she asked, "Why are you helping us?"

"Less talking, more moving."

The three of them moved silently toward the staircase, but rather than move up, Bronn began to lead them down to the lower level that's known for torture. "Where are you taking us," asked Ellaria as she stopped in her tracks.

"You can follow me, or you can go back to your little cell, not my problem," said Bronn as he grabbed a torch from one of the stands and began going down. After going through a few winding tunnels, the three emerged in the chamber of the dragon mosaic and behind one of the dragon skulls was a cave that led out to Blackwater Rush.

"Isn't the Iron Fleet going to spot us?" asked Ellaria as they got onto the small rowboat that Bronn prepared ahead of time.

"They seemed to be busy with chasing another rescue team," answered Bronn as he untied the boat.

All of a sudden, voices of soldiers echoed from behind them followed by the sound of footsteps. "I think they went over there!"

"Shit!" Bronn cursed as he prepared to draw his sword, but Ellaria stopped him.

"Mama?" asked Tyene but she knew from the look her mother gave her what was about to happen. "Mama don't do this."

"Shush now child and do not cry, your father raised you as a warrior. Go now and you may still have a chance to escape."

"Are you sure you can handle them?" asked Bronn.

"I was the paramour of Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper. I raised the Sand Snakes. I can handle them," said Ellaria confidently. Bronn nodded and tossed her his long dirk. The mother and daughter hugged for a final time before Bronn pushed the boat out into the water.

Moments after, three soldiers came out of the cavern's mouth. "They must have sailed away. We must inform the Queen about this." As they turned back, Ellaria Sand leaped out from the shadows like a snake from the grass. Her blade slithered past the throats of the first two men, slashing open their arteries and ending their life instantly. The last one had enough time to react and he buried his longsword into the woman's stomach but not before she was able to plunge her blade into his heart. The two people left standing fell to the ground in unison and as Ellaria's consciousness faded, she smiled.

'_I'm coming to join you, Oberyn._'

* * *

***Author's Note: I completely understand why the show didn't include elephants and I'm not angry about it whatsoever but since the world of fanfiction is not restricted by budget, I felt like adding elephants! **

**I know book Euron is incredibly mysterious and is set up to be another huge villain but with the state of the story in season 8, I honestly have no idea how I would fit him in, so he'll have a lesser role in this one. At the very least, I thought I'd give him some character motivation as a glory hound apart from "I want to fuck the queen."**

**Bronn deciding to go assassinate the two Lannister brothers made no sense to me. Bronn may be self-interested and a pragmatist, but we've seen time and time again that he does care for these two. So, rather than have Bronn do something that's completely out of character, I decided to change it up so that we could have a little bit of payoff from the shit Dorne plotline.**

**Ghostie1701: Thank you for your support and hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

**patrickthenobleman: I'm happy you enjoyed the Sansa/Tyrion interaction and I agree that GRRM definitely has the setup for Dany to turn mad. The season just made it way too rushed, if we had a couple of episodes to see her spiral down the abyss then I would have happily accepted it but instead, it just looks like a sudden 180 from her Mhysa persona. Your reviews are really interesting to read and I hope to see it again this chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Flight**

"Not so long ago, the Starks and the Karstarks were slaughtering each other on the battlefield. Jon Snow brought peace to their houses," said Davos Seaworth as he watched the Karstark bannermen arriving through the gate.

"And our queen is grateful," said Tyrion who stood with Varys beside the Onion Knight.

"Her gratitude is lovely but that's not my point," he continued, "the northmen are loyal to Jon Snow. They don't know her. The Free Folk don't know her. I've been up here for a while and I'm telling ya, they're stubborn as goats. You want their loyalty? You have to earn it."

"I'm sensing you are leading to a proposal," said Tyrion as he stopped.

"A proposal is what I'm proposing. Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen don't just make for a handsome couple, they would make for a good king and queen."

"Well, the good thing is there won't be much need for convincing," said Tyrion as he looked at Jon and Daenerys, who were standing together outside the walls of Winterfell. "Although he's a bastard, further solidifying the alliance with the North will be worth the match."

"A marriage could alleviate some of the anxiety the northmen have for a Targaryen ruler, but given how honorable Jon Snow is, are we certain we can convince him to forsake his vows of the Night's Watch?" asked Varys.

"Jon Snow's watch has ended."

"It's true then…that he was resurrected by Melisandre, the Red Priestess that whispered in Stannis' ear."

"Aye, it's true," said Davos as he clenched his fist upon hearing the name of the woman that burned Shireen alive. "Still got the scars over his heart to prove it."

"Great, maybe she can resurrect us as we all die while fighting the dead," joked Tyrion.

"Magic is a corrupt power that not even those who practice it understand," said Varys with a tone that betrayed his usually calm demeanor. "The Night King raises the dead as well and you have seen what they've turned into. Who's to say those raised by R'hllor are any different?"

"It doesn't matter," said Davos as he cut into the conversation before Tyrion could respond. "The woman is gone and if she comes back…" He didn't finish as he felt the dark thoughts cross his mind. "Pardon me, My Lords."

"She was at Dragonstone and counselled Daenerys to set up a meeting with Jon Snow. I know you don't like magic, but perhaps it would be wise to bring her back for the battle to come," said Tyrion once Davos was out of earshot.

"It isn't just about my hatred for magic, it is about what I know. Stannis Baratheon was a serious and hard man, but no one would have described him as cruel or evil. That was all before the Lady Melisandre came into his service. Do you know what he did before marching on Winterfell against the Boltons who occupied this castle?"

"I assume something cruel or evil."

"He burned his daughter at the stake, listened as she screamed," said Varys as he did nothing to hide his disgust. "I say we keep her far away from our queen, after all, history has had enough of Targaryens burning people alive."

* * *

"Your sister doesn't like me," said Daenerys as she walked through the camps with Jon at her side.

"She doesn't know you," said Jon as he tried his best to think of a way for Daenerys and his family to get along. "If it makes you feel any better, she didn't like me either when we were growing up."

"She doesn't need to be my friend, but I'm her queen."

"I know, I've spoken to her about it. But these past few years have been hard on us Starks. We used to think honor made the world go round but then we were suddenly pulled into the game of thrones and our world collapsed around us. Not so long ago, all we had was family and it's going to take a little bit of time for her and Arya to trust you."

Daenerys smiled which made Jon's brows crease in confusion, "Did I say something funny?"

"No," she replied, "you've just never referred to yourself as a Stark."

"Oh, I meant-"

"What you said," she cut in by finishing his sentence. "And you're right, expecting her to welcome me like she welcomes you may be a little bit too much." She paused as she thought about what she was going to say next. "By the way, if you want, I could legitim-"

Before she could finish, three Dothraki men came riding up to her. "How many today?" she asked in their native tongue.

"Only eighteen goats and eleven sheep."

"What's the matter?" Jon asked.

"The dragons are barely eating."

* * *

As Jon approached the two mythical beasts, he looked at the charred bones that were scattered around them. '_I thought they were barely eating…There must be a couple dozens of goats at the very least._' His thoughts were interrupted as Drogon rose onto his hind legs and looked down on him menacingly while Rhaegal watched him curiously.

"What's wrong with them?" he asked their mother.

"Maybe they don't like the North," said Daenerys as she rubbed Drogon's snout. As she focused her attention on Drogon, Rhaegal approached Jon and he thought perhaps his bones would end up around them next. But instead, the green dragon simply looked at his mother and brother and then back at him. It reminded him of when Ghost wanted some affection when Robb was giving some to Grey Wind. But are dragons the same as direwolves?

He carefully removed his glove and slowly extended his hand to the dragon's snout. When his hand made contact with its scales, Rhaegal closed its eyes as if satisfied. It inhaled a little as if sniffing him and he could feel the warm air coming from its nostril as if he was sitting beside his hearth in his chambers.

"Go on," said Daenerys as she called out from atop Drogon.

Jon was confused before he realized what she was asking him to do. It's hard for a man to admit he's scared, especially to the woman he loved, but he was definitely scared. He looked around trying to come up with an excuse, "I don't know how to ride a dragon."

"Nobody does," said Daenerys with a shrug, "until they ride a dragon."

"What if he doesn't want me to?" asked Jon as he shifted nervously from one foot to another.

"Then I've enjoyed your company Jon Snow." Jon looked at her to see if she was being serious, and her poker face remained.

"Will you allow me to ride you?" asked Jon as he looked at Rhaegal. The dragon showed no signs of being able to understand him, but it did show a toothy grin to which Jon interpreted as, 'If you try to ride me, I will eat you.' Finally, when the dragon lowered its wing for him to climb on, he plucked up enough courage to get on before he had the chance to think.

Daenerys smiled to herself as she watched Jon awkwardly haul himself up onto of Rhaegal's back. For Jon who thought maybe this would be similar to riding a horse, found out instantly that this was definitely nothing like riding a horse. He was already twice as high up and he never quite felt securely seated. "What do I hold onto?" he asked as he looked to Daenerys who seemed to be sitting comfortably.

"Whatever you can," she said simply. She kept her serious demeanor but deep down she was getting a little worried. She meant it as a joke, thinking Rhaegal would just shake him off if he tried to ride it, but her dragon has been unbelievably cooperative and that only served to fuel her anxiety. From the stories, only those who have a bond with the dragon may ride it, no matter how familiar said person might be. That was why she never attempted to ride Viserion or Rhaegal, she didn't want to end up like Joffrey Velaryon who was shrugged off mid-flight by his mother's dragon, Syrax. She thought that the joke has gone on far enough and watching Jon Snow fall from the sky would not be funny at all. But before she could tell him to get off, Rhaegal took flight without waiting for another beat.

The moment the dragon took flight might have been in Jon's top five most terrifying moment of his life. The powerful wings did not produce a turbulence-free ascent and the further he got away from the ground the more he began to question whether Daenerys actually liked him or not. At one point, the dragon had twisted its body so that he was no longer riding it but in fact holding onto it. He felt his heart drop to his stomach whenever the dragon dropped altitude and it was a more frequent occurrence than he would have thought.

But the moment he flew past Winterfell at a speed that he had never thought possible, he felt a wave of adrenaline flow through his veins. He felt like a child again, playing at being one of the dragonknights from the stories he read. The rush of wind that pushed against him made him physically feel how fast the dragon was going and it was exhilarating. As he looked down on his home from above and the beautiful vast expanse of the North, he felt like he could accomplish anything. The view on the Wall was amazing but it was fixed, and on some days, he felt like he was in a prison. Always looking at a beautiful scenery, never being able to reach it. But on top of Rhaegal, he could reach anything he wished for. This was the freedom of the skies.

Daenerys finally overtook him with Drogon and glanced back to check up on how he was doing, and to her surprise, she saw a smile on his face. The always brooding Jon Snow had a childlike wonder that brought a smile on her own. Never in her life had she imagined a day where she would have someone riding in the skies beside her. She had been asked many times what it felt like to ride a dragon and she tried to her best to explain it, but never did she think she could share this feeling with anyone. Riding on Drogon made her feel free and powerful but she has never felt more alone than being up here by herself. Yet here was Jon Snow and it felt like they were in a world of their own. Separate from the world below them that was full of worries, problems, and responsibilities.

The more he rode Rhaegal, the more comfortable he got. It felt like the dragon knew exactly where he wanted to go. Emboldened by his success so far, he pushed his luck as he sought out the limit of what a dragon could do, and Rhaegal responded. The green dragon took large dives in altitude, flying so close to the ground that Jon could reach out and touch the trees, before expanding its wings and rising back up again. He finally took a chance to look ahead of him at Daenerys and his eyes nearly popped out when he saw Drogon fold his wings and nose dive straight down a cliff.

Rather than shy away from it this time, he willed Rhaegal to follow suit and the dragon dove after its brother. The sinking feeling in his stomach intensified as they plunged down at a speed so fast he thought the air pressure would for sure blow him off of Rhaegal's back. Right before they hit the ground, Rhaegal expanded his wings and they took to the skies once more. As they flew through the cliffs, Jon spotted a breathtaking waterfall and thought it would make for a nice break.

Daenerys, noticing that Jon had made a turn for the ground, followed with Drogon. "You have completely ruined horses for me," said Jon once they were on the ground. She chuckled and looked at the stunning scenery in front of her. Jon grabbed her hand and led her toward the waterfall. Inside the cavern, were little pools of water that had steam coming off the surface. There were holes in the ceiling and walls that allowed sunshine to filter through so that the inside was naturally lit. The sunlight also hit the surface of the water, making it sparkle enticingly. He gave a nod towards it to Daenerys before she reached out and touched the pool. "It's warm!"

"Aye, the townsfolk say that they are heated by the breath of a great dragon."

"We could stay here a thousand years." When the words left her mouth, she was surprised that she had meant it. Forget the Long Night, forget the Iron Throne, if it could be just him and her here then she would be happy. She shook her head of that thought, it scared her how much she cared for this man. More than any that came before him, more than Drogo that she came to love. "How did you know of this place?" she asked, trying to move on to another subject.

"A wilding showed me that these existed in caverns like this one. I thought maybe there would be some here too," he said as he remembered Ygritte and the bittersweet memories that came with her name.

"A wilding…man or woman?" asked Daenerys as she took a step closer.

"A…woman," said Jon, not knowing whether he should have lied or not.

"And she was just…showing you a place like this?" Daenerys questioned further as she took another step towards him.

"We…We, uh…"

Daenerys smiled at his stammering; that time on the boat definitely didn't seem like his first time so now she seemed to have an answer to one of the questions she had at the back of her mind. She took the last step that separated the two of them and slowly began unbuttoning her winter dress.

"It's cold up here for a southern girl," said Jon as his eyes got drawn into hers.

"So keep me warm, and get in." The two embraced each other in a deep kiss as they stripped each other of their coats and got into the hot spring. The water kept the cold at bay as they lost themselves in each and let time flow by them. The problems of this afternoon can be dealt with by their advisors.

* * *

***Author's Note: Apologies for the hiatus, hope you guys enjoyed the chapter and let me know what you guys think!**

**patrickthenobleman****: Thanks again for the review, hope you are still reading as I enjoy seeing your feedback every chapter!**

**Zeffairan: I totally agree that the plot points of the ending weren't horrible, but the execution definitely was, as you said it was too rushed. I think while Bronn is a very pragmatic person, he has also built up a good relationship with both of the Lannister brothers and wouldn't threaten their lives just to get a larger paycheck. I think his goodbye with Tyrion when he was on trial perfectly encapsulates their relationship. Bronn wouldn't risk his life for either of them for nothing, but he does wish the best for them both. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – The Truth**

The forge of Winterfell has not cooled down since the dragonglass started coming in. Every smith who knew the trade was working around the clock to make as many weapons as they could in preparation for the battle against the dead, and Gendry was among the best of them. He carefully poured the melted down obsidian into the mold and made sure he didn't waste any material. It was in short supply and tricky to work with; you had one shot of getting it right since you couldn't refine it after the weapon has been forged.

"Gendry? He's here."

He looked up as he heard someone say his name and went to grab the finished product for his guest. "It isn't easy making a blade that big with dragonglass," he said as he handed the ax to the Hound.

"You're saying you're good, is that it?"

"I'm just saying it's a tricky material to work with. But now that I've kept up my end of the bargain, I hope you will as well."

The Hound let out a grunt as he inspected his weapon. "Don't know why the fuck you want me to teach you how to fight."

"You're the only person I can ask."

"You could ask me." The two of them turned around when a girl's voice came from behind them. It took a few seconds but they both recognized the girl that accompanied them in their separate adventure.

"I heard you were here," said the Hound as he narrowed his eyes to try and intimidate her, "you left me to die."

"First I robbed you," Arya said coolly without so much as a flinch.

"That list of yours, how many names are left?"

"Not many."

"And here I am," he said as he walked up and looked down on her.

After a long pause, she finally responded, "You're not on my list anymore."

"What changed your mind?"

"You," she said with a tilt of her head as if to see what his response would be.

For what felt like a long time, he didn't have one. Finally, with as grumpy a tone as he could muster, he walked past her and said, "At least I'll be able to sleep without worrying about you slitting my throat at night."

He felt his throat tighten as he got out onto the courtyard. Never in his life had he felt like he had been looked at as he really was. Not as the Hound, or as a Clegane or even as the persona of his brother that he put on, but as his true self. What was it with these Stark girls that seemed to be able to warm his cold heart and pull the best out of a dog like him?

"You two have come a long way from when you were calling for his head," said Gendry.

"And you came a long way from being sold to a fire witch," said Arya. "What did the red woman want with you anyway?"

"She wanted my blood for some kind of spell."

"Why your blood?"

Gendry sighed. "I'm Robert Baratheon's bastard. I didn't know until she told me. And then she tied me up, stripped me down and put leeches all over me."

Arya's eyebrows rose. "And here I thought something bad happened to you," she said as she walked past him to look at some of the dragonglass knives.

"What?" He quickly followed her. "Why does everyone keep treating it like it was some kind of sexual fantasy? It was horrific."

She smiled at how serious he was. "I'm just messing with you."

"Oh, so that's how My Lady wants to play?" he smiled back.

"That's right, and 'your lady' wants something done for her," she said as she pulled out Needle. "Can you coat the tip in dragonglass?"

"What do you need to coat it in dragonglass for?"

"I know you're a bit slow but wights can only be killed by dragonglass, Valyrian steel, and fire."

"You're going to fight?" he asked with a hint of worry in his voice.

"You don't think I can?" she responded defensively.

"Of course I think you can, you're the bravest person I know." The statement threw her off a bit as she expected him to treat her as if she was still that defenseless little girl all those years ago. "Now I know I'm not a great fighter, but I've fought a few of them and I'm telling you they are really bad. They're like death; cold, emotionless…inevitable."

"You don't think we can win." It was spoken in a quiet voice, more as a statement than a question.

"Remember when they were torturing people at Harrenhal?"

"You were picked."

"Aye, and when I was strapped to that chair, I thought that was it. I was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it." Gendry hung his head as he let out what he's been trying to keep at the back of his mind ever since he saw the army of the dead. He's tried to bury himself in work; working the forge from dawn to dusk, sleeping as little as possible to avoid the nightmares and training whenever he could. But nothing he did could keep away the constant sense of dread he had. "That's the way I feel now."

Arya watched him as she contemplated what to say next. Gendry wasn't some sheltered kid, he grew up living a hard life and has seen things that nightmares are made out of, but he has never despaired like now. "Do you pray to the gods?"

"No, I was never one for religion."

"My two teachers believed in only one god, death. It has many faces and now it has taken the form of White Walkers, but there's still only one thing we say to death…Not today." She grabbed his shoulder and made him look her in the eye. "Fight it, Gendry. We've fought against death countless times before and won. We'll win this time as well."

Gendry smiled as her words fueled the fire of life within him. If she could believe in him then he ought to do so as well. "It's good to see you again, Arya."

"You too," she said with a smile of her own and despite not looking one part a proper lady, he still found her to be the most charming woman in the world.

* * *

By the time Jon and Daenerys came back from their date, the sun had already set. After taking care of some business, they went their separate ways as Daenerys said she had someone to meet and thank. Jon took this opportunity to enjoy some alone time and gather the thoughts that have been surfacing ever since he rode Rhaegal. He decided to go down to the crypts as it was one of the two places where he could be alone and unbothered while also being able to pay some respect to the dead.

He lit the candles and took a step back to look at the statue of his father, Eddard Stark. They were never able to meet again after that crossroad and they never had a chance to talk about his mother. It had gone to the back of his mind but his ride on Rhaegal made him question who his mother really was. After all, it was said that all dragonriders have the blood of Old Valyria. He had heard of the rumors of her being Ashara Dayne, who people say his father had fallen in love with at Harrenhal. The Daynes have displayed Valyrian features and Ashara Dayne even has Targaryen blood in her. So would that be enough? Surely the Targaryens wouldn't have been so obsessed with keeping their bloodlines pure if he could be a dragonrider with the little Targaryen lineage he has.

It made him feel somewhat better to think that the woman wasn't just some whore his father never cared for. But at the same time, knowing the fate of Ashara Dayne left a bitter taste in his mouth. He sighed in resignation as the theories in his head began to make it hurt. At the end of it all, none of it made sense and no matter what, he couldn't imagine his honorable father breaking his vows for any woman. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone stumbling and falling down the steps leading into the crypts.

He walked over to see who it was, only to find Sam grunting in pain as he slowly got up. "Sam."

"I'm sorry, I know I'm not supposed to be down here." Before he could continue, Jon brought his brother in for a hug.

"Were you hiding from me?" asked Jon, given that he hadn't seen the man despite knowing of his return from the Citadel.

"Of course not," he answered sheepishly.

"What are you doing in Winterfell? Or did you read every book in the Citadel already?" he asked half-jokingly but when he saw the look on his friend's face he knew something was not right. "What's wrong? Gilly?"

"She's good."

"Little Sam?"

"Did you know?" he asked quietly.

"Know what?"

"Daenerys, she executed my father and brother. They were her prisoners." Jon tried to digest what Sam was saying. The Daenerys he knew was always kind and merciful, beautiful and strong. An executioner was not how he wanted to see her. "She didn't tell you."

"I'm so sorry," he said finally after not knowing what he could possibly say. "We need to end this war."

"Would you have done it?"

"I've executed men who've disobeyed me." His shoulders felt a little heavier thinking back on the look Olly gave him before he hanged him.

"You've also spared men. Thousands of wildlings when they refused to kneel."

"I wasn't a king."

"But you were. You've always been."

"I gave up my crown, Sam." He turned to walk away, not wanting to get into another argument about how he shouldn't have done it. He's had enough of those with Sansa already. "I bent the knee, I'm not the King of the North anymore."

"I'm not talking about the King of the North, I'm talking about the King of the bloody Seven Kingdoms!" The statement was so ludicrous that Jon stopped in his track and turned to stare at his friend. "Bran and I worked it out. I had a High Septon's diary and Bran had…whatever Bran has."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your mother was Lyanna Stark. And your father…your real father, was Rhaegar Targaryen. You've never been a bastard, you're Jaehaerys Targaryen, true heir to the Iron Throne."

"No!" he shook his head as all the pieces fell into place. His father's honor. His bond to Rhaegal as a dragonrider. But at the same time, he felt his whole identity begin to shatter. He had been a bastard his entire life; looked down upon by others and a smirch to Ned Stark's honor. He had always wanted a name that wasn't Snow, but to think that it would be Targaryen that replaced it.

"I'm sorry, I know it's a lot to take in."

"My father was the most honorable man I've ever met. You're saying he lied to me all my life?"

"Ned Stark promised your mother he'd always protect you and he did. Robert would have murdered you if he knew. You're the true king, Jaehaerys Targaryen, Third of his Name, Protector of the Realm, all of it."

"Daenerys is our queen."

"She shouldn't be."

"That's treason."

"It's the truth!"

"And it's divisive! I'm grateful for you telling me this but you must keep this a secret. We have a war to fight and another one after that, there's no time or room for who's the true heir to what."

Sam wanted to argue but the look Jon gave him stopped him. As he turned to leave, he asked him one last thing. "You gave up your crown to save the people. Would she do the same?"

* * *

***Author's Note: I decided to have Arya tell the Hound that he was no longer on her list because I felt like at this point, Arya doesn't really feel the need to keep pretending she hates him. Also, I felt bad that Sandor never got any thanks from Arya until right before his death in the show, so this was my way of giving him some positive reinforcement for all the good shit he's done.**

**I enjoyed the dialogue between Arya and Gendry from the show, but their relationship ended up being more of a one-night stand. I think the two characters have a lot of built-in chemistry and I've got a lot more in store for them so that's why I made their exchange a bit more serious/personal rather than flirty.**

**I decided to skip writing the scene between Daenerys and Sam, not because I thought it was bad or unnecessary but because I thought there wasn't much I could add to it. As for the last chapter with the flight scene, that was just so magical, iconic and spine-tingling that I really wanted to bring it back to life for you guys one more time.**

**As for why I decided to change Jon's name from Aegon to Jaehaerys, I mean c'mon…Lyanna was that big of a savage that she named her son the same as Rhaegar's first born son that he had with his OTHER wife? That's just silly and the name beginning with J just makes more sense to me.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – Oathbreaker**

The ride up the Kingsroad was a long and uncomfortable journey that progressively got colder and colder the farther North Jaime travelled. The whole way there, it had felt like the right thing to do. He had tried his best to convince his twin sister that the war against the Others was of a greater importance than the Iron Throne, but she did not listen. Now, instead of the Lannister army marching through the gates of Winterfell, it was just him.

Nobody seemed to mind the cloaked rider amongst the multitude of smallfolk seeking refuge from the incoming threat. With his golden hand covered, he didn't think anyone would even be able to recognize him. As he dismounted his horse, he went over his plan again. He was the Kingslayer. The Targaryen Queen probably hates him for breaking his Kingsguard's vows and killing her father. Probably enough to feed him to her dragons. That's why beside offering his sword for the fight to come, he also brought with him information that will greatly help the Northern cause.

For once in his life, he felt like the kind of knight he always dreamed of being when he was a young boy. Upholding honor and fighting for a just cause. That feeling of righteousness didn't last long though as his eyes caught sight of that tower. The tower where he had pushed one of the Stark boys for catching him with Cersei. He felt a chill run down his back as he felt someone watching him. When he turned around, he caught sight of a boy sitting in a wheelchair in the middle of the courtyard who was staring intently at him.

His features had matured but he could still clearly see the young man that was Bran Stark. He felt his phantom hand twitch as he recalled the feeling of pushing the boy all those years ago. It didn't take much effort, but it had crippled him nonetheless and is what started the madness that led to the War of the Five Kings. Guilt washed over him as he froze in place, not knowing what he should do or say.

It was the boy that made the first move, gesturing for him to approach. His legs felt like lead as he walked those steps, but he would not run from this shame. He would pay the price for his transgression, whatever it may be. "Hello, old friend," said Bran with a thin and bittersweet smile. "I would have come greet you…but as you can see, I can't move very well on my own."

At that moment, he would have rather faced a thousand blade than the guilt that was stabbing at his conscious. "I'm sorry for what I did to you," he said finally.

"The gods seem to have a sense of poetic justice," said Bran as he looked at his golden hand. "The hand that made me a cripple has been taken from you to make you one too."

"I'm not that person anymore."

"You still would be, if you hadn't pushed me out of that window. Sometimes it takes tragedy for us to grow into the person we are meant to be."

"You're not angry at me?"

"Will it give me my legs back?"

Jaime tried to look away, but Bran waited for his response. "No."

"Then why should I be?"

After another long moment of silence between them, Jaime asked, "Have you told them about what I have done?"

"You won't be able to help us in this war, if I let them murder you first."

"What about afterwards?"

Bran smiled a bit more, "One step at a time, Ser Jaime. First, you have an audience with the queen."

* * *

"When I was a child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story about the man who murdered our father. About all the things we would do to that man," said Daenerys venomously as she looked at Jaime who stood at the center of the Great Hall. "Your sister pledged to send her army North."

"She did," responded Jaime.

"I don't see an army. I see one man, with one hand. It appears your sister lied to me."

"She lied to me as well," said Jaime as he met Tyrion's gaze.

"Pity. I would have considered mercy had she helped us in this war and yielded the Iron Throne."

"She never had any intentions of sending the army North. She had Euron Greyjoy's fleet ferry 20,000 fresh troops of The Golden Company from Essos."

"I see…and you have travelled all this way to personally tell us this because…"

"I promised to fight for the living, I intend to keep that promise."

"The promise of an Oathbreaker!" shouted one of the Northern lords.

"Brother and sister alike!" shouted another.

"I bleed Lannister red too," said Tyrion with enough hint of a threat that quieted the hall. As Hand of the Queen, he held enough authority to prevent his family from being slandered during court.

"Do you want me to apologize for killing the Mad King?" asked Jaime as he looked around the room. "I won't. I may have broken my vows that day, but I also saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Your father would have burned King's Landing to the ground to deny Robert Baratheon his city."

"Yes, you're so righteous aren't you? What of Princess Elia and her children? My good-sister, niece and nephew that the Mountain brutalized while you sat on the Iron Throne and watched as the blood of my father pooled onto the floor."

"If I had known what my father ordered, I would have gone to protect them, I swear it," said Jaime as he gritted his teeth, recalling the horrible corpses of the children.

Daenerys watched him as she felt her blood boil. There stood a man that she had wanted dead for most of her life. She had the power and authority to sentence him to death, all she had to do was say the word. Nobody would be able to stop her, all she had to do was reach out and use that power. "Will anyone speak for him?" she asked as she tried to suppress these dark thoughts.

"Your Grace, I know my brother-" started Tyrion.

"Someone impartial."

Silence filled the Great Hall as the queen waited to see if anyone would speak for the Kingslayer. Meanwhile, Jaime stood up straight with his head held high. He wouldn't look to the Northern lords here for help, not that he expected any. A lion does not seek help from other; maimed as he is, he still had his Lannister pride that his father instilled in him. When he heard someone's chair screech back, he couldn't help but turn to see who it was that stood for him.

"You don't know me well, Your Grace," said Brienne as she walked to stand beside him in front of the queen. "But I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honor. I was his captor once but when we were both taken prisoners and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me and lost his hand because of it."

She then turned to Sansa as she continued. "Without him, My Lady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home because he had sworn a sacred oath to your mother."

"You vouch for him?" asked Sansa.

"I do," she responded without hesitation.

"You would fight beside him?"

"I would."

She looked at Brienne and saw that her sworn sword truly wished for the man to be spared. She then glanced over at Tyrion, who was still standing, nervously clenching his fist. Her vote of confidence would no doubt have some sway on the queen, but this was the man who attacked and injured her father. Does a good act right a wrong one? '_We only make peace with our enemies, that's why it's called making peace._' "I trust you with my life and you trust him with yours. We should let him stay."

Daenerys had hoped nobody would speak for Jaime Lannister. It would have made it so much easier to justify killing him but now it would be considered an act of tyranny. '_Damn what they think! You are a dragon! A dragon does what it wants! If they want to oppose you then they can burn as the masters did in Slaver's Bay!_' The voice of her brother called for his blood and she so badly wanted to oblige him.

"What does the Warden of the North say about it?" she asked as she turned to Jon.

It took him a double take to process what was happening after being lost in his thoughts. "Lady Brienne speaks highly of you, I hope you prove it to be true. If you are truly here to help then we have no reason to turn down an able-bodied man."

With the major voices of the table having spoken, Daenerys finally relented, "Very well." She looked to the commander of the Unsullied and the soldier went to return Jaime his sword.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he said with a bow.

"Should your intentions be untrue," said Daenerys as she got up from her seat, "I will turn your bone to ash." With that said she left the room, her advisors tried to follow suit but were stopped by Jorah as he gestured for him to have a moment alone.

"What you did was not easy, Khaleesi," he said as he walked with her.

"What do you mean?"

"You spared the life of the man who killed your father, a man you've wanted dead most of your life. I saw the turmoil within you, but you made the right choice. Now, the houses that sided with Robert during the rebellion and the realm in general will feel a lot better about you taking the throne."

"Yes…but it still seems so far away, as far away as it was when we were riding in the Dothraki Sea."

"You have come a long way since then," said Jorah as he chuckled, "not so far now."

* * *

Arya didn't bother attending the trial of Jaime Lannister, she didn't care if they killed him, spared him or sent him back to King's Landing, he wasn't on her list. Instead, she chose to go visit Gendry again. She wanted to see if her Needle had been upgraded yet and, though she would never admit it to anyone, there was a certain hypnotizing allure to watching him smith.

When she got there, she saw him leave the forge with his warhammer and quietly followed him as he made his way to the tiltyard. "Took you bloody long enough," said the Hound as he got up from where he was sitting and picked up his sparring sword.

"You should get a shield," said Gendry to which the Hound chuckled.

"You're not gonna hit me, boy."

"I may not have much experience fighting but I've been hammering anvil my whole life and I've gotten quite good at it."

"The anvil doesn't hit back," said the Hound as he got into a fighting stance. "Now, enough talking. If you're so confident, show me."

Gendry mirrored him as he too got into his stance and led out with a wide swing at the Hound's left arm. The more experienced fighter easily parried it and allowed the young man to have another attempt, and another, and another. Each time he swung the warhammer with strength beyond his age, but each time the strike was either dodged or parried. In his frustration, he sent a hard swing toward the Hound's temple and immediately regretted it. '_What if I accidentally kill him?_'

His worries were unwarranted though as the Hound ducked the swing and countered for the first time with a hard punch to his gut that made his knees buckle. "Never hesitate, your opponent certainly won't."

When Gendry got back up, the Hound began his assault as he rained down heavy blows that were far too quick for the young smith to block. Multiple hits connected with force strong enough to leave a bruise.

Arya watched as the Hound continued to bully Gendry around and part of her wanted to step in. Part of her also understood that this was how the Hound taught people, but she was beginning to wonder if he wasn't just abusing the poor boy as the Waif abused her.

The larger man finally stopped once he brought Gendry to his knees and disarmed him. "Alright that's enough for one day," he said as he began walking away.

"Wait, I can still fight," said Gendry as he got back up.

"Reflect on how I beat you into the dirt and we'll try again tomorrow," said the Hound dismissively as he left the tiltyard.

"Are you alright?" asked Arya as she approached him once the Hound had left.

"I've had worse," said Gendry as he turned to face her. "Were you watching?"

"Mhmm, that was quite the beating. I thought you called yourself a fighter."

"Kicking me while I'm down, eh? That's not very ladylike." The two of them shared a laugh as Arya playfully shoved him.

She watched as he went back to thinking about why he was so soundly defeated and decided to help her friend out, "Your attacks are too obvious."

"What do you mean?"

"Your swings are too wide. They're fast but there's still enough time for your opponent to react. If you want your hits to land, you'll need to set them up first."

"How do I do that?"

"Pick up your weapon and I'll show you."

Gendry smiled widely as he went to pick up his warhammer. "Do I get to call you My Lady for a day if I win?"

"You get to call me My Lady for the rest of my life if you win," said Arya as she smiled back confidently. The two circled each other for a brief moment and began their dance.

* * *

The line in front of the food station was long. Not only were the workers and soldiers taking their lunch breaks but the smallfolk who came to seek shelter had to eat too. Davos shed a tear as he continued to cut the onions. The chefs found it funny and quite frankly he found it funny as well until people started giving the crying fifty-year old man weird looks. "Is this where we get food?" asked a small voice which made him look up from his work.

It was a small girl with a scar across her right cheek that reminded him of Shireen. Tears welled up in his eyes and this time it wasn't from the onions. "Aye, it's here," he said softly as he turned to a cook. "Can I get a bowl of soup and a piece of bread?"

"We're out," said the line cook beside him.

"Give us a minute, girl. We'll be making some more," said Davos.

"No we won't," said the head cook from behind.

"What do you mean?" asked Davos as he looked back at the line of people still waiting for their portion.

"Lady Sansa's orders. This is the ration for today."

"Damn the rations! We'll never get through winter if we can't survive the first battle, and we'll never survive the first battle if the people are starving! Plus, the queen is bringing more food as we speak."

"Ser…these rations are based on when we're expecting the food to arrive," said the head cook.

Davos was stunned silent by that revelation. He never knew the food situation was this dire; no wonder the Lady of Winterfell was so adamant during the meetings in the Great Hall in regard to this problem. He was snapped out of his thoughts though as some of the people in line began to get agitated from the stall.

"What the hell's taking so long?!"

"W-We won't be serving any more food for today," said the head cook timidly to the crowd and he received the treatment that he expected.

"I haven't eaten anything since yesterday and you want me to go work without food?!" The northman then turned to look at two Dothraki bloodriders who were lucky enough to get food. "You feed these foreign savages our food while we starve?!"

One of the Dothraki warriors stopped as he turned to face the man who was yelling and pointing at them. "_Fin ajjin mae asto_ (What is he saying)?"

"You think you can insult us just because we can't understand you?!" said the man as he approach them. "Tell me, do you leave your hair long so that he can pull at it while he fucks you from behind?"

"Fuck…Ahh! _Mae zala remekat ma yer _(He wants to sleep with you)," said the other Dothraki as he laughed.

"_Ki fin yeni _(What the fuck)?" said the first as he gave the northman a disgusted look.

"You think something's funny?" said the northman as he drew his blade which instantly put both warriors on edge.

"_Mae lajat kisha_ (He challenges us)," said the other Dothraki.

"_Arrek tihat mae qorraya_ (Let's see his arm then)," said the first as he drew his arakh.

Before the fight could escalate further, a blast of horn interrupted them as soldiers began rushing out of the keep alongside the Warden of the North in case there were more blasts to come. Luckily for everyone, the horn stopped at one and the gates opened to the return of his brothers from the Night's Watch.

Sam was the first to embrace Edd and Jon followed but before he could reach Edd, Tormund nearly tackled him to the ground with his bear hug. "Little crow," said Tormund as he greeted Jon.

"I thought we lost you," said Jon as he recovered his bearing.

"A flock of crows got us out before the fucker rode in with his new dragon."

Jon nodded as he greeted the remaining men. "How did you find each other?"

"We met up at the Last Hearth," said Edd. "Place was infested with rats. Not a soul left in there for the Night King."

"Must have been Bran's doing."

"Any later and the Umbers would be fighting with the Night King," said Beric Dondarrion.

"How long do we have?" asked Jon.

"If he marches on us…before the sun comes up tomorrow."

"Then winter is here," said Jon as he gritted his teeth. "Gather the generals."

"We have dragonglass, Valyrian steel and the largest army in the world! We can hold them!" said one of the northern generals.

"Siege weapons and dragons as well! What can the dead do when fire rains down on them from above?" said another lord from the Vale.

"Defending a siege only works if there are allies coming to lift it," said Tyrion. "If you haven't noticed yet, no one's coming. The dead wouldn't even have to attack us, all they would need to do is starve us to death."

"And how would a dwarf know these things?"

Tyrion looked at him incredulously as if he was the most stupid man in the world and held out his small hands. "Because I've defended a siege."

"We cannot hold to them, not only do they outnumber us but every one of our dead joins their rank," said Jon.

"So what can we do?" asked Jaime.

"We can't do anything if we don't know where he is," said Jorah.

"The Night King rests at the Nightfort," answered Bran.

"He does not march on us? Why?" asked Jon.

"I…don't know. His powers are not limitless, perhaps he needed time to recuperate after destroying the Wall or perhaps for some other reason."

"No matter the reason, this gives us a bit more time to prepare. The two inner trenches have been dug and built. We'll build up the outer wooden dam as much as we can before the dead arrive, even the women and children can help with that task," said Jon.

"Your Grace, if I may," said Davos, "the current food ration is not enough to feed everyone. Morale will drop quickly if people work on empty stomachs."

"I had no choice, there are nearly two hundred thousand people here. That's five times more than what we planned for," said Sansa. "Our stores will not last if we feed all of them three meals a day."

"The food is coming," said Tyrion.

Right as he said that, Varys entered the room with a frown that meant he brought bad news. "Your Grace, a raven from the Fingers, the Greyjoy fleet has been spotted. The longships are a day's sail behind but they will catch up to our slower caravans."

"The bulk of our fleet is taking back the Iron Islands under my sister's command right now," said Theon. "But even if they were here, they would not make it in time."

Jon clutched his hands as he felt the anger burn within him. Why couldn't Cersei and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms understand the magnitude of this threat? Instead of being defeated by the dead, they would be betrayed by the living that they were trying to save. It felt like the betrayal he had suffered at the hands of his false brothers and he would not allow the same fate to befall the people here. Enough was enough.

"We can make it," he said as he broke the silence in the room and looked to Daenerys. The look they shared was all they needed as she met his dark grey eyes with the same fire that burned in her violet ones. "Let's show them what we do to Oathbreakers."

* * *

***Author's Note: Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! From here on out we'll begin to heavily deviate from the show, and I hope you guys are as excited as I am for this.** **Please leave a review of what you think so far; it's incredibly motivating for me to see feedback for my work whether it be kind praises or constructive criticism!**

**Felon GT: No spoilers ;) Thanks for the review!**

**Guest: Thanks for the review, hope you stick around to find out!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 – Fire and Blood**

"All hands on deck!"

The bright sunrays hit my face as I climbed onto the deck of the ship. Our captain has been screaming out orders ever since we've spotted the supply ship. We've been chasing after it with a fleet of twenty Greyjoy longships as soon as the queen gave the order. Without food, the Dragon Queen and her army will not survive the winter and perhaps this war will end with less bloodshed than needed.

Many of my fellow countrymen seek glory in this war as a way to honor the Drowned God. They want to reestablish the Iron Islands as an independent country and go back to practicing the Old Ways. I'm more pragmatic; I say fuck the Old Ways. Over the past couple hundred years, the Ironborn have been put down by the Targaryens for our practices, and by the Baratheons and Starks for trying to go back to it.

There seems to be a misguided sense of honor in raiding and pillaging with the Ironborn. In my opinion, all it does is piss people off. Piss enough people off and you have six kingdoms united against you, fighting a war where you are outnumbered ten to one. On top of that, what's so great about an independent country? Our home is a pile of rocks covered in bird shit and filled with hideously unattractive people. I reckon our bloodlines would improve a bit if we ate more than just fish every day. Eat enough fish and you start looking like them.

During the War of the Five Kings, I heard a rumor that Robb Stark offered Balon Greyjoy Casterly Rock for siding with him. I guess if you eat enough fish you start thinking like one as well. 'We do not sow,' the Greyjoys said. No shit you don't sow, there's no fertile lands on the Iron Islands! Instead of getting Casterly Rock, we went to 'conquer' acres of cold, useless tundra and when the war ended, we gave it all back. Now, we have Euron Greyjoy, the lunatic that cuts out the tongues of his crew members, leading us in a war against dragons. How can anyone follow the Drowned God if he deems this person as a fitting king?

"Come with me and take these ships!" said the captain to the rest of us as he raised his ax. "What is dead may never die!"

"What is dead may never die!"

My heart rate sped up as we slowly closed the distance between our longships and the supply ships. I was too young to fight during the War of the Five Kings but now there was no avoiding it at ten and six. I don't want to die, not when I haven't even truly lived my life yet. My hands felt clammy around my sword as adrenaline pumped through my veins. The fighting hadn't even started yet and I'm sweating like a damned pig under this sun.

Beyond the sound of the waves we rode and the war cries around me, the sound of my own breathing felt the loudest in my ears. But then I heard it. The bone-chilling cry of a creature I have never heard before coming from above. I wasn't the only one; the men around me all fell silent and turned to look up at the sky. The sunlight was so bright that I had to put my hands up to shield my eyes. There was nothing there except for the bright sun, clouds and birds. But my heart dropped as the shadow of the birds grew larger and larger.

"Drowned God save us," whispered one of the men beside me.

"L-Load up the Scorpions! Quickly!" said the captain as he snapped out of his trance.

The rest of crew moved into action as they loaded up the giant bolts onto the ballista, but I was rooted to where I stood. As the dragons approached and their cries rang louder, I felt only despair. "Fire!"

A dozen bolts were fired, and I prayed to all the gods I knew for them to hit. But the dragons folded their wings and took a nosedive, avoiding all of them. The speed they approached at was terrifying, leaving no time for a second round of Scorpion bolts. Now that they were right in front of us, I could see the sheer size of these creatures. Their maws large enough to devour a mammoth whole and wings so wide they could cover the sky. The next thing I knew, they had flown past us whilst unleashing an inferno upon the ship beside us, instantly turning it to cinders. The force of the blast shook the sea beneath us as I felt the heat wave from the dragonfire on my face. A ship that had taken months to build had been reduced to a pyre in the blink of an eye. That was when I knew, there was no use in praying, we never stood a chance.

"Turn around!" yelled the captain.

"They're too fast!"

I watched as the dragons ascended back into the sky, out of the reach of the Scorpions, and began to circle back. Strafe after strafe, the dragons decimated our ships without challenge. When we tried to focus the black one, the green one would swoop down and rain fire on us. When we tried to focus the green one, a firestorm would come from another direction. This wasn't a battle, this was a massacre.

The inhuman cries of burning men filled the air along with the salt of the burning sea and the thick smoke of our burning ships. Everywhere I looked there were men on fire, desperately trying to put it out as their skin melted off of their bodies. What was beneath our skin did not look human and there was nothing glorious about the way their bodies writhed in agony. It felt like I was in hell as the two dragons descended and hovered over our ship who was the last standing. I looked at the two people riding these fearsome beasts and wondered what the Drowned God could possibly do to them. No, these were true gods; unstoppable and all-powerful.

"Mercy," I said as I fell to my knees.

"Hear me and obey!" said the silver-haired dragonrider. "Sail back to King's Landing and tell the Oathbreaker, Cersei Lannister, what happened here. Tell her what happens to Oathbreakers." With that said, the two dragons flew back the way they came from and I was finally able to let go of the breath I didn't know I was holding. It seemed like these gods were different from the other ones I knew, they weren't deaf to the pleas of mere mortals.

* * *

"How do they feel about their new queen?" asked Jaime as he walked with Tyrion in Winterfell's courtyard.

"She's your new queen too," said Tyrion. "They remember what happened the last time Targaryens brought dragons North. They'll come around when they see Daenerys is different."

"And she _is_ different," said Jaime, his voice making it sound more like a question than a statement.

"She is."

"You're sure about her?"

"She didn't kill you despite your…history with her family." Tyrion then stopped in his tracks. "Last I spoke with our sister, she told me she was pregnant. Was she lying about the baby too?"

"No, that part is real," said Jaime with a hint of sadness. "She has always been good at using the truth to tell lies. She's had me fooled all the way till now."

Tyrion smiled at his brother. "You always knew exactly what she was, and you loved her anyway. Us two seem to share this trait; you with Cersei and I with whores."

"Tyrion…" Jaime considered if he should tell Tyrion the truth about Tysha. It was his last and biggest sin that weighed on his soul. He had wanted to do so when he freed him back in King's Landing, but he had lacked the courage. He wanted to tell his brother that there was someone that had loved him, but at the same time, he was afraid of losing his brother. He could live with being hated by Brandon Stark and Daenerys Targaryen, but he could not live with being hated by Tyrion.

Before he could continue, Sansa Stark accompanied by Brienne of Tarth approached them. "My Lord, Ser Jaime," she greeted them with a brief and polite curtesy. "May I have a word?" she asked as she looked to Tyrion.

The two brothers exchanged a look to which Tyrion responded with a shrug, signaling he had no idea what this was about. "Well, if you are going to borrow my brother, then you wouldn't mind if I borrowed your bodyguard, would you Lady Stark?"

It was the ladies' turn this time to exchange a look before Sansa gave a nod of approval. Jaime and Brienne remained in the courtyard while Sansa and Tyrion climbed up the rampart for their conversation. There was a brief moment of silence as the two of them were left alone, until Jaime finally broke the silence. "I wanted to thank you for speaking for me at the trial. I would be a pile of charred bones right now if you hadn't."

"A knight should have his full character be judged, not only his flaws," said Brienne as she looked away. "Last I saw you at the Dragonpit, you seemed adamant about following your sister's commands."

"You were right," said Jaime which caused Brienne to turn and face him. "This goes beyond houses, honor and oaths. But Cersei couldn't see that."

"I see. Well, I'm glad we are not facing each other across a battlefield."

"Aye, and if you are feeling generous…" Brienne looked at him skeptically as if trying to see what sort of trickery this was. "I'm not the warrior that I was before, but you're the one that helped me see a side of myself that I couldn't and show me the conduct of a knight I didn't believe was possible. I would be honored to serve under your command in the upcoming battle."

"The honor would be mine, Ser Jaime."

* * *

"How may I help you, My Lady?" asked Tyrion as the two of them got onto the rampart.

"There's something I wanted to get your opinion on," said Sansa hesitantly.

"I am at your service."

"I'm thinking of sending some of the smallfolk south. When the dead attacks, there will be nowhere to hide here in Winterfell, and it would also help alleviate some of the food needs."

"I suppose the crypt won't be very safe with our enemy being able to raise the dead…" After thinking it over for some time, Tyrion nodded to himself. "Yes, housing an unending number of refugees here will become unsustainable fast. We can keep the able-bodied men and women here to continue working on the fortifications and if the fighting comes within these walls, which, by the gods, I hope will not come to that, then they can contribute somewhat as well."

Despite his approval, Sansa looked even more distressed than when she approached him. "What's wrong? These are wise decisions that you are proposing."

"It just feels…wrong. My father used to say that a lord's job was to protect its people. Instead of protecting them, I'm shutting the gate on them. I feel like I'm-"

"Cersei," said Tyrion as he finished her sentence.

"Yeah," said Sansa as she looked to the people outside of Winterfell's walls.

"Sansa," said Tyrion as she caught her gaze, "taking care of your people is important, but you know that the world is not so black and white. Sometimes, being a leader and a ruler means making hard decisions. Take your brother, Jon, for example, he opened the gates to the Wildlings but in return, he was stabbed in the heart by his brothers at the Night's Watch. Sometimes the right decisions are not liked by everyone."

"And how would I know if I'm making the right decision?"

"By seeking the council of people you trust, as you are doing now. A wise man once said, 'No man is so wise that he can afford to wholly ignore the advice of others.'"

A small smile graced her lips as she narrowed her eyes on Tyrion. "Which wise man said this?"

"Me, just now," said Tyrion as he smiled back.

* * *

Bran sat alone by the fireplace as he was submerged in his visions. Bits and pieces of the future, present and past mixing together to tell the stories of different books. He still wasn't as powerful as the last Three-Eyed Raven, there was still so much he hasn't seen yet. He needed to be selective and pick the knowledge that would help them in the wars to come. Perhaps the answer to a question he's had may be what they need. _Why was the Night King staying at the Nightfort?_

The Nightfort is one of the oldest and largest among the 19 castles that line the Wall. It was likely the first major stronghold of the Night's Watch after its founding, which according to myth was almost eight thousand years ago.

Many dark and horrific tales took place inside its keep, counting the infamous Rat Cook and the 79 Sentinels among them. Most of these stories were told as bedtime stories to scare the children but one of these stories, despite being the most ancient, has been passed on generations after generations. The legend of the Night's King, the 13th Lord Commander in the early years of the Watch who declared himself king of the Wall after falling in love with a White Walker.

It was said that the Night's King and his queen performed dark sacrifices to the White Walkers until they were defeated by the King of the North, Brandon the Breaker, and the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Joramun. Following his defeat, the Night's King's name was cursed and erased from all records of history.

Bran's eyes rolled back as he channeled the powers of the Old Gods that was within him. When he reopened his eyes, he was seeing from the eyes of a raven flying above the castle in question. Suddenly, he felt a dark power begin to pull his consciousness into the fort. He tried to go back to his body, but the force was too strong as he felt himself falling into the sinkhole. This time when he reopened his eyes, he was sitting at the lord's table of a great hall. A hall that was far grander than the one in Winterfell with hundreds of men cloaked all in black standing in line with their hands on their weapons. They all faced the entrance of the hall as if expecting an attack at any moment.

This vision was different from the ones he usually had. He wasn't simply observing but he felt like he was participating. Not that he had any control of his action, however. His hand moved on its own accord as it went to clutch the sigil that was sown on his cloak, the Stark sigil of Winterfell.

Suddenly, the candles of the chandeliers that hung the ceilings of the great hall went out and a cold wind blew through the room causing even those wrapped in furs to shiver. Frost began to creep through underneath the entrance of the hall. The double-door made out of steel and wood froze over and threatened to shatter. Finally, the doors swung open as two White Walkers emerged. Brandon's heart began to beat wildly yet his body refused to move according to his will. The other humans in the room also did not draw their weapons, although he could see that most of them were shaken by the sight of the Others.

The two White Walkers scanned the room for a long moment before opening their mouth and making a sound that mirrored the cracking of ice on a winter lake. Then _he_ appeared. The Night King in all his glory as he led a female White Walker by the hand. When she looked up, her starlight blue eyes met his and Brandon thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her skin was milky white, and her hair was pale as snow, yet he couldn't help but think of her as beautiful and elegant, yet strange and dangerous at the same time. Her dress shifted in color with every step she took and reflected the image of the room around her like a clear, still pond.

When he blinked, it was all gone, and the scene changed once more. He was back to being a spectator and regained control over his movement. He saw a man wearing a cloak with a Stark sigil bleeding out on the ground, a crown by his head and his hand outstretched, reaching for something that was out of grasp. He followed the man's gaze and saw a grizzly man impale the White Walker woman with his two-handed sword. Pale blue blood flowed out of her abdomen and the blue starlight in her eyes slowly faded to nothing. Stark and Wildling men around cheered as the grizzly man cut her head off and held it up for all to see.

While everyone was focused on the gruesome scene in front, Bran felt a cold gaze behind him within the forest. When he turned around, he once again saw _him_. The Night King's anger burned cold and the trees around him froze into popsicles that shattered into a million pieces. He opened his mouth and the sound of the raging winds of winter came out but behind all the anger, Bran could hear the agony within his 'voice'.

The snowstorm engulfed them all and Bran was once again in the great hall that he sat in before but this time he stood at the center of it. White Walkers lined the hall as the men in black did before and the Night King sat at the lord's table on a throne made of ice. He made no move to attack Bran as he had done last time, he simply sat on his throne with his head resting on his left hand and examined him.

"What do you want?" asked Bran as he met his cold gaze. The Night King remained silent as he gave no answer to his question. "Who are you?" At that, the Night King smiled and with a simple wave of a hand, a white mist obscured Bran's vision and he was back in his wheelchair at Winterfell.

"Bran?" asked Arya as she walked into the room. She quickly ran to her brother and covered him with her cloak. Not only was the fire she started for him put out, but her brother was covered in frost. Beneath his wheelchair, a spiral symbol etched into the floor in ice.

Within the Nightfort, at the head of the great hall atop a frozen throne, the Night King's eyes open.

* * *

"**No man is so wise that he can afford to wholly ignore the advice of others." -James Lendall Basford (1845-1915), **_**Sparks from the Philosopher's Stone**_**, 1882**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 – The Calm**

"The Night King comes," said Bran as he looked to the generals that were gathered around the table. "He comes for me." He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the icy marks that were left on him. The handprint of the Night King forever engrained on his arm as frostbitten flesh that will never heal.

"Why?" asked Sam.

"Perhaps it's because I'm now the Three-Eyed Raven. He has hunted down the previous ones."

"What does he want?"

"I don't know," said Bran as he recalled his earlier encounter.

"We'll hide you where it's safest," said Jon.

"Quite the opposite. I must be in the open to lure him out, else his army will overwhelm us. I'll wait for him in the Godswood."

"You want us to use you as bait?" asked Sansa.

"We're not leaving you alone out there," said Arya.

"He won't be. I'll stay with him with the Ironborn," said Theon as he looked to Bran. While most of the Starks have forgiven his past crimes for saving Sansa, he still wanted to make it up to Bran for driving him out of his home all those years ago. "I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now."

Once Bran gave a slight nod of approval, Davos continued the strategy meeting, "We'll hold off the rest of them for as long as we can."

"What are our defenses looking like so far?" asked Jaime.

"Three lines of defenses; the first line is an unmanned barricade 250 meters out from the castle wall. It's mainly made out of wood and was quickly constructed by the refugees, but it'll stop their charge and they'll be sitting ducks to our artillery fire and dragon strafes," said Jon as he moved the pieces on the war board.

"The dragons should give us an edge on the field," said Davos.

"They have a dragon too," commented Tormund.

"We'll give Viserion the rest he deserves," said Daenerys.

"Why place it so far out?"

"It's so that the Dothraki have room to work with," answered Jorah as he pointed to the space between the first and second line of defenses. "We'll pick off any stragglers that break through the barricade and if it becomes too much for us to handle, we have room to retreat without trampling our own."

"The second line is a trench 100 meters out, once again stopping their charge but within the range of our archers now. Finally, the last line of defense will be manned with a chevron fortification made out of stakes and mounds 50 meters out. If that falls…" Jon paused for a moment as he thought about their chances of surviving if that happened, "we'll light up the trench so that we can have a full retreat behind the castle walls."

"The Unsullied will not let them through," said Grey Worm. "We have never failed before, and we will not fail our queen now."

"Let's hope it does not come to that. But if the time comes, Ser Davos and I will be on the walls, to give you the signal to light the trench," said Tyrion. "And if they make it past that…we'll need all the help we can get. Common folk, the wounded, even you Spider."

"We will pray for a quick death if it comes to that," said Jaime as Varys shot Tyrion a horrified look.

"Let's get some rest," said Jon when the room fell quiet. People filtered out of the room and before he had a chance to do so as well, Daenerys caught his arm. "Your Grace?"

When they were the only ones left, her grip and expression softened. "Something bothers you. What is it?"

Jon felt his lips dry as he avoided her eyes. "The Night King comes yet I still don't feel like we're ready."

"Is that all?" she asked again, her eyes full of concern for him.

The word 'no' was stuck in his throat. '_Is this what fath-, uncle felt like for seventeen years?_', he thought to himself. There were still so many questions that he didn't know the answers to but at the same time, he was tired of bearing the burden of this secret by himself. This was something that Daenerys will have to know eventually, and it was better to come from him than from anyone else. "There's something I need to tell you," he said as he met her eyes. "My name…my real name is not Jon Snow…it's Jaehaerys Targaryen."

Her eyes grew wide from disbelief but now that the secret was out there was no going back. "Lyanna Stark, she wasn't kidnapped by Rhaegar, they were in love and they married in secret. After he fell on the Trident, she had a son. Robert would have murdered the baby if he had found out and she knew it. So the last thing she did was give the baby to her brother, Ned Stark. To raise as his bastard."

"Who told you this?" she asked shakily.

"Bran with his visions and Sam with records from the Citadel." She drew in another deep breath as she tried to process everything. "Believe me, I would not have kept this from you if I had known sooner."

"Would you have?" Her tone came out more accusatory than she had meant it, but her mind was getting hazy. Her whole life she had thought herself destined to sit on the Iron Throne, now her claim was seconded by a nephew that didn't even know he was a Targaryen.

"You think I want to sit on the Iron Throne?" Jon asked in disbelief, feeling hurt by Daenerys' doubt in him.

"Why not? You have the love and respect of the people here in Westeros. You are a fierce warrior and an honorable leader, while I'm the Mad King's daughter and the foreign invader."

"Dany, listen to me," said Jon as he took hold of her shoulders, "being king of the Seven Kingdoms is the last thing I want. All this burden and responsibility, I never asked for any of it. It has forced me to kill men that I respect. It has forced me to look at my friends in the eye and send them to their death. It has forced me to make decisions that have gotten me killed."

Everything Jon said made sense and Daenerys believed him, yet it did nothing to dispel the fear within her. Then she realized why; the thing she feared had nothing to do with his claim to the Iron Throne. "Is this why you've been keeping your distance from me?" she asked in a whisper so low she could barely even hear it herself. Ever since meeting Jon, he has felt like the home she had always wanted. She had felt a sense of belonging with him that she didn't feel anywhere else in the world, not even when she first landed on the shores of Dragonstone. "Has what we've done disgust you?"

His hesitance was all the answer she needed to hear, and the betrayal had felt worse than anything she has ever suffered. She was once again alone in this world. To find out that she had a family but to lose it all the same. Tears welled up in her eyes and for a moment it had seemed like Jon wanted to reach out to her. But she turned away before she could disgrace herself further in front of him. "Pardon me, My Lord." Daenerys left without another word and there was nothing Jon could do to stop her. As soon as the door closed behind her, anger and frustration consumed him as he slammed the pieces off of the war board.

He would have proclaimed his love for her a thousand times over before he found out about the truth regarding his parents. Ever since then, his whole world had been flipped upside down. The man he looked up to his entire life was lying to him the whole time. The mother who he dreamt of meeting is already long dead. While he has always cursed the way he was conceived, he was now the product of a union that resulted in the death of thousands of people. But worst of all, it was wrong for him to love the person he loved.

* * *

Down in the empty dining hall sat the two Lannister brothers, a cup of wine in their hands, in front of a fireplace. "I wish father was here," said Tyrion which earned him a humorously serious reaction from his brother. "I would love to see the look on his face when he realizes his two sons are about to die defending Winterfell."

Jaime thought about it for a moment before letting out a chuckle. Tywin Lannister would rise from the dead to stop that from happening. The irony is that he actually might. "It would be something to see."

"I remember the first time we were here," said Tyrion as he looked around. "First time I saw this hall, you were a golden lion, I was a drunken whoremonger. It was all so simple."

"It wasn't so simple," said Jaime. "I was sleeping with my sister and you had one friend in the world who was sleeping with his sister."

"I was speaking in relative terms."

"Do you miss it?"

"Of course I miss it," said Tyrion as he took a drink.

"Well, my golden lion days are done but whoremongering is still an option for you."

"It's not. Things would be easier if it were."

"And why not?"

"For one, I am still technically a married man."

"It was unconsummated," Jaime stated.

"But it was never annulled," Tyrion countered.

Jaime smirked, "So it's the Stark girl that has you walking the high road, eh brother? If you both survive this, perhaps you may resume your lovely little marriage."

"Don't tease me like this."

"I'm serious," said Jaime as he sat up straighter. "When this is all over, the realm will need to be rebuilt and to keep it stable, the great houses will need to have alliances tied in matrimony. You'll be the Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Hand of the Queen and she'll be one of the most influential people in the North."

"It's not about politics, Jaime. It could be the greatest political match in the history of Westeros, but it won't matter if she doesn't want to be married to me," said Tyrion as he took another swig of wine. "And let's be honest, the Seven Hells would freeze over before Sansa Stark degrades herself to marrying this imp."

"Don't speak of yourself like that."

"But it's true, isn't it? No woman will ever want to marry me. The only thing women have ever wanted me for was gold. Yet time and time again, I fool myself into believing it was me they wanted. That's why whoremongering is no longer an option," said Tyrion as he got up and went to refill his glass. "But drinking certainly still is."

"Tyrion…" But before he could continue, Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne entered the hall. "My Lady," Jaime greeted as he stood up.

"We didn't mean to interrupt," said Brienne, "we were just looking for somewhere warm to…"

"Contemplate your imminent death. You've come to the right place," Tyrion finished. Soon after, they were joined by Davos Seaworth and Tormund Giantsbane. They were an odd circle of characters, each with their own story on how they got here. "It's strange, isn't it? Almost everyone here has fought the Starks, at one time or another. And here we are at their castle, ready to defend it, together."

"At least we'll die with honor," said Brienne.

"I think we might live," said Davos to the laughter of the others in the room. "I do," he continued with a smile. "How many battles have we survived between us?"

"Ser Davos Seaworth, survivor of both the Battle of Blackwater and the Battle of Bastards," said Tyrion.

"All without a shred of combat ability," added Davos, to which Tormund agreed wholeheartedly.

"Ser Jaime Lannister, fabled hero of the Siege of Pyke," Tyrion continued.

"Fabled loser of the Battle of Whispering Wood," added Jaime as he got up to get more wine.

"Ser Brienne of Tarth, defeated the Hound in single combat." Brienne's brief glance away made Tyrion catch on to his mistake. "Pardon me, Lady Brienne."

"She's not a Ser? You're not a knight?" Tormund asked incredulously.

"Women can't be knights," answered Brienne.

"Why not?"

"Tradition."

"Fuck tradition," said Tormund with a shrug. "I'm no king, but if I were, I'd knight you ten times over."

"You don't need a king," Jaime cut in, "any knight can make another knight." That got the attention of the rest of the room, and one look to Brienne finalized his decision. "I'll prove it," he said as he drew his Valyrian sword and walked to the center of the room. "Kneel, Lady Brienne."

Brienne scoffed and tried to laugh it off, thinking it might be some kind of cruel joke to be played out like the ones from her childhood. But Jaime didn't give up, "Do you want to be a knight or not?" he asked.

As she was about to respond with 'no', she met the eyes of her squire that had gotten to know her over the time they spent together on the road. There was no use denying him that she wanted to be a knight, and there was no use denying herself either. It has been her dream, ever since she was a little girl. 'Fuck tradition', it's been something she has wanted to shout out to the world, but the world wasn't interested in what one woman had to say.

"Kneel," Jaime said again.

This time, she decided to stand up and slowly walked over to where Jaime stood. As she got onto one knee, the rest of the room got out of their seats to watch the sacred ceremony. She held her breath as she watched Jaime's grip tighten around the handle of the sword and lift it to place it on her right shoulder.

"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."

"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."

"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent."

As Jaime said the words, he felt like he was renewing his own oath in a way. He reflected on the words; being brave doesn't always mean being fearless, sometimes, it means allowing yourself to be vulnerable and facing the person you've been running away from, even if that person is yourself. Being just wasn't about sticking to a single code of honor or oath; the right thing to do will never be spelled out for you, you must look within yourself to find it. Finally, it was a knight's duty to defend the innocent, whether it be from the king or your father. Jaime has failed on these charges many times in his life, but even now, it was never too late to change.

"Arise, Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

When Brienne got up, the rest of the room applauded her knighthood. While it paled in comparison to the times when a king granted the honor, Brienne could not help but smile as she overflowed with happiness. Her actions may not have changed the world, but she has proven herself to the people in this room and that was enough to show her that her efforts were not in vain.

* * *

Meanwhile, Gendry made his way to the archer's boards with a freshly reworked weapon that was wrapped in a clean cloth. As he approached the shooting range, he heard the bowstring get drawn and saw Arya practicing there by herself. "You got something for me?" asked Arya without looking back.

"Your Needle, new and improved," said Gendry as he handed her the sword.

"This'll work," she said as she examined the new obsidian coated tip. Despite the extra material, the balance of the blade was still what she was used to.

"Anything else you need, My Lady?"

"I don't recall you ever beating me to earn the right to call me that."

Gendry shrugged as he held out two sparring swords from behind him. "Give me another shot?"

Arya smiled as she put down her bow and caught the sword Gendry tossed at her. Ever since the first time Arya offered to help train him, the two of them have practiced together regularly. Gendry was a fast learner and he was happy to see his progress when the Hound grabbed a shield for the first time in one of their training sessions. He was still no match for Arya's speed though, as the smaller girl practically danced circles around him. When fighting Arya, it felt like trying to catch your own shadow and by the time he does catch her…

"Yield?" asked Arya as she looked down on Gendry who was flat on his back.

"I yield. I yield," said Gendry as he put his hand up but as soon as Arya removed the sparring sword from his throat, he quickly swept her feet from under her causing her to land on her back as well. She went to reach for her sword, but he anticipated that as well and got to her hands before she could get to her weapon.

"You said you yield," Arya said with a hint of frustration as she lied beneath him.

"You were the one that told me to make my attacks less obvious," said Gendry with a big grin on his face, given that this was his first time he was even able to land an attack on Arya. But then, once the adrenaline wore off, he realized the position they were in. With him on top of her, holding both of her hands down over her head. They were so close that he could feel her breath on his face; their mouths so close to each other that if he were to just lean down a little, he would be able to claim her lips.

His heart beat wildly in his chest and he looked for any sign of discomfort from Arya, telling him that he should stop. But her expression betrayed nothing, as she simply stared at his face as if she was just as mesmerized as he was. It felt like they were there for hours until Gendry finally plucked up the courage and went for it.

"Oh, apologies, My Lady. I hope I wasn't interrupting," said Beric as he stumbled upon the two of them. It felt like cold water had been splashed on the two of them as they immediately broke apart before anything could happen.

"Leave these two alone so that they can fuck in peace," said the Hound from behind him.

"We weren't doing that," said Gendry as he quickly got up off Arya. He expected Arya to refute them as well, but to his surprise, Arya simply remained silent.

"Didn't your father ever teach you how to get a woman?"

"I'm a bastard."

"You're right about that."

"No, I mean, my mother and father weren't married."

"Jon Snow's a bastard, he seems to be doing just fine."

"I doubt the king had time to leave the Red Keep to visit the boy," said Beric.

The Hound looked between Beric and Gendry for a moment. "You're Robert Baratheon's bastard?"

"You want to kiss my ass or lick my boots?" asked Gendry as he took a shot back.

For a moment, he wasn't sure how Clegane would take the jest, but the Hound bellowed with laughter. "He would have liked you. A lot more than the sack of shit the queen passed off as his anyways."

"Don't matter, I'm nothing like him."

"You may be surprised," said Beric. "He was once a great warrior; wielded a warhammer just like you are now. No man could best him in strength, not even noble Rhaegar Targaryen could withstand his fury."

"He was a fat, drunken, lecher the last time I saw him," said Arya.

"He was a shell of his former self by then."

"What happened?" asked Gendry.

"Lost the love of his life, Lyanna Stark. Never recovered from that," said Beric.

Gendry snuck a glance at Arya, he wondered what he would do if she died. Would he become just like his father? '_Slow down, you idiot. You don't even know if she likes you or not and you're here thinking she's the love of your life,_' thought Gendry to himself.

Since they weren't being shooed away as they had been by the other soldiers, the two knights decided to stay. The Hound offered his wine sack to Arya as he sat down on a pile of hay, to which she gladly took a sip from. "I'm sorry we parted the way we did, both of you," said Beric to Arya and Gendry as he sat down as well.

"Is he on your list?" asked the Hound as he looked to Arya.

"For a little while," she responded.

"That's alright, I've died six times already. I don't have anyone to bring me back now, so having it end with you wouldn't be so bad."

"I heard about your friend," said Gendry, referring to Thoros of Myr, "I'm sorry for your loss."

"He is with our lord now," said Beric with a hint of sadness. "I have forgotten a lot from coming back so many times. The keep I once held, the woman I was meant to marry, but I never forgot him."

"To Thoros," said the Hound as he raised his wine sack without looking up at Beric.

Beric smiled and raised his own wine sack in reply, "To Thoros." His smile faded when the sound of the horn sounded. The Hound stood up and gritted his teeth when it sounded again. Finally, Arya and Gendry exchanged a look before the horn sounded for the third time.

"The dead are here."

* * *

***Author's Note: This took a long time to write since the revelation to Daenerys was an extremely important and hard scene to write, and it took me multiple attempts to get it right. Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter and let me know what you guys think of the story so far!**

**GulfYankee23: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews you've left and thank you for pointing out that error, I went back and fixed the previous chapters and I should be aware of it from now on! Reviews like these really motivate me to keep writing and I hope to keep on reading your reviews in the future!**

**Nick Vengoechea: Thanks for the review, I really do appreciate it and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 – The Storm**

When the third blast of the horn sounded, everyone knew what it meant. Thousands of men and women moved through Winterfell to get to their designated post. The various houses of the North and Vale combined with the countless tribes of the Wildlings lined the ramparts of the castle. The Dothraki men mounted their stallions and among them was Jorah Mormont, who was charged with leading the cavalry shock unit. He watched as the Unsullied, armed with their spears and shields, marched out of the gates to act as their last line of defense. As the men in black leather armor passed by him, a familiar face stopped in front of him, "Good luck to you, Jorah the Andal."

"And to you too, Torgo Nudho."

"When you were banished by our queen, I treated you as a traitor. But I was wrong, you are a good and loyal man. I must ask forgiveness," said Grey Worm as he bowed his head.

"There's nothing to forgive."

"When the war is over, our queen will wish to have you by her side."

"Nothing would make me happier," said Jorah as he got onto his horse. "Now, you have more important people to say goodbye to." Grey Worm followed his gaze and the two men exchanged one last nod before going their separate ways. Part of Jorah envied the moment the Unsullied general shared with Missandei. He could not deny that deep down he still loved Daenerys dearly but in the end, it simply wasn't meant to be. She would always be his queen but nothing more. '_Perhaps when this is all over, I may be able to find someone else._' As Jorah rode out to join back up with his unit, the roars of the dragons resonated across Winterfell as Drogon and Rhaegal took flight. The men on the rampart cheered as the intimidating sound brought a brief moment of comfort to everyone in the castle. They were fearsome beasts but tonight they would be their guardian angels.

Despite being from the North, Jorah still felt chilled to his bones as the cold winds battered down on his spirit. Perhaps it was the Essosi weather that he got used to, but he noticed that the Knights of the Vale, who were with him, were also struggling with the cold. Every pair of eyes was staring into the night's abyss as if the darkness itself was coming to engulf them. For a long time, there was nothing but the eerie silence as the soldiers waited nervously for their enemies to appear. Suddenly, out from the darkness came a figure of a cloaked rider. The men were quick to draw their weapons, but Jorah held out his arm, signaling to hold. As he took a closer look, it was not a White Walker that approached them but a woman in red.

* * *

Sansa stood on the front battlement overlooking the entire battlefield alongside Arya. She had always believed that if the Starks could reclaim Winterfell, they would be safe again. That this castle would return to being the safe haven it once was when she was young. But now, even after fighting so hard to get it back, their sanctuary was once again being threatened. "It's at times like these that I wish I was more like you," said Sansa to Arya. "To at least have the strength to defend myself."

"I've already lost count of how many times I wished I was more like you." Arya pulled out a dragonglass dagger and offered it to her sister. "Here."

"I don't know how to use that."

"Stick 'em with the pointy end," said Arya with a smile.

"The preparations are complete, My Lady," said Tyrion as he walked up to join the Stark girls. "Now we just wait."

"Waiting is always the worst part."

Their conversation was interrupted when a shout came from the watchtower, "Here they come!" Before they even had a chance to see the dead coming, they heard their inhuman cries, and the rumbling of their stampede grow louder and louder. Without further warning, the tsunami that was the army of the dead crashed into the first wooden barricade. "Fire!" The command for the artillery fire came instantly and dozens of meteors began crashing down onto the invading army. The damage was there but it was not nearly sufficient enough as the dead tore through the barricade with the sheer volume of their forces.

Up in the air, Jon and Daenerys witnessed the true scale of the enemy that numbered over a hundred thousand. It was their second time seeing it, yet it was still no less horrifying.  
"Dracarys!" The Targaryens wasted no time joining the fray and unleashed their dragons upon the wights. The dragonfire came down like the wrath of god and smited the dead with far greater effectiveness. Every strafe the dragons made destroyed hundreds of wights at a time, leaving behind a trail of fire that lit up the dark night. As Sansa watched the dragons turn the terrain into a field of fire, for the first time since Daenerys arrived at Winterfell, she felt truly grateful that they were on the same side.

Jon scanned his surroundings as he rode Rhaegal, looking for any signs of the Night King. They needed to intercept him and Viserion, otherwise, the undead dragon would blow a hole right through Winterfell's walls. If the castle's defenses get breached, the battle would be over. As he flew over the army of the dead, he spotted the Night King's generals whose count neared a hundred. Each rode an undead steed and when they noticed the dragonriders' approach, they pushed their mount into a gallop and launched the same ice spears that took down Viserion.

"Sōvegon!" Having had this dance with Qyburn's Scorpions before, the dragons picked up altitude and got out of the range of the spears. The time away from the battlefield did not come without consequences though as the rest of the stampede pushed past the barricade and continued their advance onto Winterfell. The gap between the first line of defense and the second line of defense was 150 meters, and the wights were quickly closing that distance. But after having been stopped by the barricade and thinned out by dragonfire, their ranks were not as tight, and their charge had lost the flood-like force it had before. That's when the forces of the living blew the horn a second time that night, but this time it did not come from Winterfell.

The sound of the horn was accompanied by the thundering sound of the hooves as 40,000 Dothraki screamers and the Knights of the Vale led by Jorah Mormont charged at the enemy. Right before they made contact, the Dothraki raised their arakhs and their blades got enchanted with the fires of R'hllor by the Red Priestess Melisandre. A volley of fire flew over them to cut off the reinforcements of the undead army as the cavalry smashed into their enemy's flanks. The horselords and mounted knights reaped through the wights like a scythe through harvest, clearing out a significant portion of the undead army with little casualties. "Again!" shouted Jorah as he raised Heartsbane into the air and led the cavalry for another charge. As his horse picked up speed, the cold wind felt like sharp knives on his face. It wasn't until he felt his horse slowing down that he noticed the giant snowstorm that was about to overtake them. By the time he called for a retreat, it was already too late.

* * *

Back in Winterfell, beside the Heart tree the castle was built around, Bran quietly observed the battle through the eyes of the crows he has warged into. Once the storm came, his vision was obscured, and he returned to his body. "How is it?" asked Theon as he noticed Bran's eyes roll back to their natural state.

"Not good."

"Is there anything you can do to help them?"

"There is but I need you to lay me against the Heart tree. My powers are stronger when I'm in contact with them." Theon nodded and carried the young Stark to the weirwood tree after laying down his cloak. Bran took a good look at him then and noticed the shadow of death that clung to him. Thousands of umbral arms reached for him, each representing a different reality in which Theon Greyjoy perishes. "Theon," said Bran as he sat him down, "you're a good man."

The look he got in return showed what those words meant to him. He may not be able to take back his betrayal but at least knowing that he is forgiven for it can help lighten the weight on his soul. Perhaps if he was still Brandon Stark, he would be able to offer more than those few simple words. Perhaps he would try to find a way to save him, no matter how unlikely. '_Forgive me._' Bran thought as he submerged himself into the past.

To find a way to defeat the Night King, he will need to go back thousands of years. But trying to see something that far back in the past is like trying to find an old book in the Citadel's library. He will need time to work his way back to the beginning. When he reemerged from his dive through time, he found himself in a well-furnished room with the most noticeable thing being the Targaryen décor. Bran wasn't sure where he was, given that he didn't choose this time and place to resurface. This was simply a temporary stop before he could dive further back into the past.

The footsteps at the door pulled him out of his own thoughts as he instinctively took a step behind cover. The man who entered had the telltale sign of a Targaryen; pale skin with silver platinum hair along with a light shade of purple irises. While still being quite young, he had the weight of the crown sitting atop his head. Another man followed behind him, they were around the same age but this one did not have any relations to Old Valyria. Well-kempt blonde hair and sharp green eyes adorned his serious demeanor. While the king wore an extravagant robe, he wore a simple red leather doublet with a golden lion stitched at the front.

"I want the doves to come flying in right as the music and the dancing…Are you even listening to me?"

"Mhmm," hummed blonde man as he walked past the king and went to his desk.

"This is important, I will not have the bards say the king does not know how to host a splendid ball."

"Yes, you've said this a hundred times on our way up here. What I don't understand is why you must bother _me_ with this? Seems like something you ought to plan with your wife instead of with your Hand."

"You know how it is with me and Rhaella, but speaking of women…"

"Only the fairest maidens."

"You know me so well." The king laughed while the blond man shook his head in mock disappointment of his friend. "Oh, I was also thinking, what if we invited some Dothraki horselords to come to compete at our next jousting event? I would love to see how our knights fare against men who have been riding since the day they were born."

"I'll give this idea a moon's turn, same as the one about invading the Stepstones."

"I'll remember this one, and I will make it happen. When I do, I'm going to make you compete in it too, just watch." This time, the young lion couldn't help but chuckle as well. "People in court say you don't laugh, I always tell them I can get you to do it."

"How can the Hand keep his job if he doesn't laugh at the king's jokes?"

"Oh don't even…"

The blonde man looked up from his work when the king suddenly went quiet and saw that he was staring out the balcony. He followed his gaze but there was nothing there, "Your Grace?"

"Shh, I hear something," said the king as he took a step toward Bran. "Do you hear that? It's like a whisper or something." As he took another step closer, Bran took a step back which caused the king to freeze in his place. "Who's there!? Guards!"

His tone brought the blond man to his feet, noting that this wasn't a simple prank. He quickly scanned the room, but he still did not see anything out of the ordinary. "Your Grace, there's nothing there."

Bran did not dare move another muscle, in case his presence was felt even more. He could feel the powers of the Three-Eyed Raven gathering within him and he knew that he would be able to dive through time again in just a few seconds. As he channeled his ability, time was no longer linear to him. He saw pieces of the past he wanted to go to but also pieces of the 'future' that had already happened in his present.

'_A mad man sees what he sees._'

'_Sigil, a lion. Words, a Lannister always pays his debts._'

'_You served him well, when serving was safe._'

'_I know what my father was, what he did. I know the Mad King earned his name._'

'_By what right does the Wolf judge the Lion?!_'

'_Burn them all!_'

"Burn them all…"

"No!" Bran tried to contain his powers, but it was already too late. His soul was already leaving this plane of time and moving onto the next one. Before his vision faded to black, he saw the king collapse onto the floor and the blond man shouting at the guards to find the Grand Maester. The king would not remember what happened when he wakes up but the words he heard that day would later become seeds that eventually grew into paranoia. The paranoia would then eventually grow into madness, earning him the name of the Mad King.

* * *

Inside the storm was a dark and cold hell that had no end in sight. Jorah's horse had long since collapsed from the bitter cold and the knight from Bear Island was not faring any better. He felt the frostbite claim the flesh of his cheeks and his limps grew rigid. A layer of frost and snow-covered his armor and he knew that the ice would imprison him if he did not keep moving. He had passed by many of his fellow soldiers, the dead already half-covered in ice and snow. Their look of terror still frozen on their faces.

Walking was already becoming too much to bear and finally, he came to a stop when the four horsemen slowly approached him on their steeds. He no longer had the strength to fight and he fell forward on his knees, the only thing still holding him up being the Valyrian sword Sam had given him before the fight. He had made many mistakes in his life, but he would not carry any regrets to his grave. As he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable swing to come, it never did. Instead, the storm cleared around them and let the light of the moon shine down on top of him. When he looked up at the sky, he saw Daenerys atop her dragon; every bit the goddess he saw her as.

"Moon of my life."

He knew she had seen him as well when Drogon began descending, but at the same time, he noticed the White Walkers around him, who were still hidden by the storm, prepare their ice javelins. She would never call him her sun and stars but to know that she would risk her life for him is enough. In the end, his loyalty to her was not in vain, he did have a spot in her heart and for that, he would not let her fall on his watch. With all the strength he could muster from within, he pushed himself up onto his feet while the White Walkers were still focused onto the dragon.

In their minds, a man half a foot past death's door was no threat to them, he had served his purpose in drawing out the dragonrider, but that all changed when one of their brethren was shattered into a million pieces by the man's Valyrian steel blade. Such transcendent beings were not used to the feeling of shock but that was exactly what they were experiencing at that moment. No man had ever survived this long in their storm before, much less still be able to fight.

Lyanna Mormont had once said that every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders, and Jorah was no different. Two White Walkers approached him, with every intention of ending this fight quickly with their numbers advantage but the former heir of House Mormont would not get meekly cornered. 'Here We Stand,' those were his house words and he stood his ground by striking with a ferocity that the ice demons have never witnessed before. He took the fight to the first White Walker with quick consecutive strikes while putting distance between him and the second one. The Other had the strength, speed, and reaction to deflect his blows but its overreliance on its physical capabilities left an opening for tricks. A smart feint from the experienced knight gave him the window he needed to deliver a clean cut that turned his first opponent into dust.

The second White Walker let out a shriek that mirrored the sound of breaking glass as it charged at Jorah. Perhaps these monsters had a sense of brotherhood amongst themselves that likened them to their human counterpart, but Jorah paid no heed to it as he calmly deflected its thrust. Heartsbane sang as the steel clashed with the magical ice the White Walkers wielded as their weapon. The Valyrian blade had never tasted the flesh of the cold gods before and it was singing for more. Jorah felt empowered by the magical steel that vibrated in his grip and swung down as hard as could, shattering the White Walker along with its guard.

The roar of the dragon above him let him know that Daenerys was getting close, and he felt his heartbeat quicken as he looked for his last opponent. Armed with Heartsbane and with his queen watching him, he knew he could not be bested in single combat. But the challenge never came, and by the time he saw the White Walker throw his javelin, he had already felt it pierce through his armor. The fire in his veins began to extinguish as he felt the fight leave his body. With the last remaining strength he had, he took one last look at his heart's bane.

"Khaleesi…"

* * *

***Author's Note: Let me know what you guys think of Bran's visions so far! I'm curious to see if you guys can name all of the quotes I used, some were as far back as Season 1. Jorah was always going to die defending his queen, but I do hope I was able to give him the death he deserved.**

**GulfYankee23: No worries, I don't think your comment was harsh at all and I still greatly appreciate the review. The first version I wrote was actually one where Dany takes it well and they work it out immediately, but I honestly felt like that didn't do justice to the internal turmoil that Jon is faced with from the revelation of his true parentage. This is something Jon needed time to come to terms with, but the dead aren't so kind as to wait for him to sort his thoughts and feelings out XD **

**Guest: Wow I actually didn't know that, thanks for the review!**

**Samantha: Thank you for the kind review!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 – Dance of Dragons**

"NO!" Daenerys screamed as she watched her oldest friend fall to the ice javelin that was meant for her. The bitter grief she felt soon turned into a burning rage when she saw the White Walker, who was responsible for Jorah's death, try to run away. She swore to herself then that she would see it burn and turn to dust even if she had to cross all Seven Hells to get to it.

"Dany, watch out!" Jon yelled out but his voice could not reach her as Drogon, fueled by its rider's emotions, widened the gap between them and dove for the running Other.

The wind felt like sharp needles against her face, but she could care less about the pain right now. All that mattered was killing this thing that had taken away such an important person from her, all that mattered was the black rage within her. Time seemed to slow down as she got closer and closer to her target, and when it was inevitable that Drogon would catch up to it, the White Walker turned around and bowed down. For a moment, Daenerys had thought that it was begging for mercy. Only when she felt the impact of something colliding with Drogon did she realize that as the ice demon was being consumed by dragonfire, it had not been bowing to her, but its king.

"DANY!" shouted Jon as the risen Viserion dove out of the cover of the storm and crashed into its eldest sibling. With both momentum and the element of surprise, the Night King was going to eliminate the biggest threat to his army here and now. The ice dragon sunk its talons into Drogon's body, tearing out both flesh and scale, causing it to roar out in pain. Drogon had tried to fight back with its breath attack but Viserion gave no openings as it continuously bit at him, trying to secure a bite to the throat that would end it all.

Daenerys was hanging on for dear life, but they were sinking at a terrifying pace and would soon crash if nothing was done about it. After an intense tangle, just as Viserion got into position to give the finishing blow, their third sibling finally caught up and broke up the fight. The three dragons spun in the air uncontrollably, like kites in a storm, and the riders focused on regaining their bearings. Drogon managed to force a hard landing on its legs, which was as safe as it was going to get for its Mother, while Viserion and Rhaegal regained their postures in the air.

The fall looked bad and for a moment, Jon felt like his heart had stopped. A picture of her lifeless corpse flashed across his mind. Her violet eyes void of the warmth and hope he loved about her. She couldn't die now; she was the future, his future. Only after meeting her did he see a life after the Long Night, she was the light at the end of this dark tunnel. If she died… Before he even realized he had given the command, Rhaegal was already flying down to its mother. When they landed, Jon jumped off as quickly as he could and ran to her side. "Dany, are you alright?!"

Daenerys felt dizzy, as if she was in a fog, and saw Jon over her as she slowly opened her lidded eyes. "You're hurt," he said, but all she could hear was the ringing in her ears. She reached up to touch her head and felt something warm and wet. She looked at her hand and saw it stained in red. Was that her blood? "Jon…am I dying?"

"No," he said quickly, but she noticed the worry that was dripping in his tone, "don't even think about it, you hear me? You're okay, I've got you." While not being a maester, Jon still did the best he could as he took out his dagger and cut a piece of his cloak off to bandage the wound on her head. "Drogon…is he okay?" The black dragon gave a small cry to his mother, even though it pained him.

The Night King looked down and saw that the larger dragon would not be able to rejoin the fight anytime soon, so rather than opt into the one versus two, he chose to continue to Winterfell where his objective lied and left the grounded dragon to his minions. When Jon saw that the Night King turned his attention to Winterfell, he once again felt torn by the decision he would have to make. "You must go…" Daenerys said weakly.

"No…no, don't make do this," Jon said as he shook his head. "I'm not leaving you here."

"Everyone…will die if you don't."

"You may…" he did not dare finish his sentence as he held onto her, "I still love you." That was the truth and curse any man or god that would tell him it was wrong. He loved her. Why must the gods make him choose like this? Why always him?

Daenerys smiled as she heard the words that she has been craving for, ever since the truth regarding his parentage came out. Part of her thought that she might have hallucinated it but another part of her felt like she had breathed in a breath of new life. "Take him down and come back to me." She felt his hesitation as he refused to move, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it to let him feel the strength she still had left in her. "Make haste, Jon Snow. Your queen commands it."

It seems the call of duty was what got him to move. "I will be back, I promise," he said as he gave one last squeeze to her hand before leaving her. He could do it. He would do it, Daenerys thought as she watched him leave. They had a future together ahead of them, as a family. Until then, Daenerys Stormborn would not die.

As Jon and Rhaegal took off again, he took one last look at Daenerys before urging Rhaegal to start the pursuit. As they flew further and further away, Jon felt his guilt and hesitancy within Rhaegal for abandoning its mother, his blood and his love. "Forgive me," Jon whispered before steeling himself and shaking off the doubt. He would channel all these emotions into taking down the Night King, here and now. Rhaegal responded to his feelings and let out a threatening roar as it sped up.

The Night King turned around and smirked when he saw his pursuer. He had known when they met at Hardhome that they would meet again. Time and time again he has stood against him, even though he has witnessed his godly powers first-hand. Looking at him now, he saw some striking resemblance to the First Men he faced all those years ago. His bloodlust ignited as he recalled the memories of those battles. It has been 175 years since the last dance of dragons; this would be a worthy foe.

As Jon closed the distance between them, the Night King changed his course and took to a higher altitude. Seeing that the Great Other was no longer going for Winterfell, it was clear what he wanted; a duel where nobody could interfere. Jon's heart hammered in his chest as he tightened his grip on Rhaegal and ascended, it was now or never. He could win and end the Long Night. Or he could fall and Winterfell with him. He was not the only one who understood this; every man and woman in Winterfell prayed for his victory as they watched the two dragons rise above the clouds.

'_You can do this, brother!_'

'_Take that son of a bitch down, Jon!_'

'_All the money's on you now, Snow!_'

The sound of war was all around him as he chased after the Night King, but as soon as they flew past the clouds and into the night sky, all sound died. The Night King was nowhere to be found. For a moment, there was nothing except for the moon and stars above him. The world was black and white until a blue hue was cast on his face. "Fuck!" Jon cursed as he saw the blue flames coming out of the cover of the clouds below him and got Rhaegal to move away just in time.

The chase was on and the hunter turns prey.

The undead Viserion clung to its brother's tail with its blue flame breath; even with the dragon's resistance to fire, dragonfire was not something that could be ignored. Jon sympathized with Rhaegal's scalding pain but there was little he could do about it. Whether he climbed up or dived down, the Night King followed quickly; he had the initiative and he wasn't about to let go of it. To make matters worse, the fast-paced three-dimensional aerial combat made Jon constantly lose track of where his enemy was. Directing Rhaegal, tracking the Night King and trying not to fall off were difficult tasks that he desperately tried to balance; if it weren't for his experience in battle then he would have long been defeated.

After a tight turn that finally got him and Rhaegal away from the line of fire, Jon saw his opportunity to retake the initiative now that he found himself behind the Night King. Just as he was about to catch up, Viserion folded its wings and fell like an arrow that had run its course. With Rhaegal's momentum going up and Viserion's momentum going down, the two dragons flew past each other and Jon cursed for getting outmaneuvered again.

The Night King circled back around and this time, with neither riders having the advantage, the ice god came straight for him. Having been chased around for so long, neither Jon nor Rhaegal shied away from a frontal clash as the two dragons collided in the sky into a full-on melee. Both dragons tore mercilessly at each other with their claws and teeth, as the riders hung on for the turbulent flight. However, one was bleeding warm lifeblood while the other's ran cold.

"Go for the Night King, Rhaegal!" Jon yelled. The dragon listened and aimed his bite at the Great Other, nearly knocking him off as he was forced to dodge out of the way. Viserion retaliated by doing the same to Jon as his monstrous jaw snapped angrily at him. Jon was more dangling off than riding on his dragon at this point as he tried to keep his body away from Viserion's vicious bites. He risked a glance downward and realized that they were about to crash if they didn't get out of this tangle. While Jon was unsure whether or not this fall would kill the Night King, he did know for sure that this fall would kill him and Rhaegal. Even if he was okay with the gamble, he would not do so with Daenerys' child. "Dracarys!"

The Valyrian words rolled off his tongue with a Northerner's accent but the dragon understood it, nonetheless. Fire gathered in its mouth, burning as hot and bright as the sun itself, while his brother mirrored him with a flame the color of winter roses. Both unleashed their breath at the same time; pushing the other away and enveloping them along with their riders. Jon felt like he had been thrown into a furnace as he felt the flames peel at his skin and burn his flesh. The only indication that he hadn't been thrown into the deepest part of the Seven Hells was the falling sensation. But then came the sensation of numbness as he felt his senses slowly begin to fade. A familiar sensation, the same one he felt when he laid on the courtyard of Castle Black. As his vision faded, the flames engulfing him turned into pale blue flowers.

'_And now I rest…amidst winter roses…_'

Winter roses.

'_Promise me, Ned._'

A crown of winter roses atop brown hair.

'_Promise me._'

Grey eyes filled with melancholy stared at him.

His eyes.

His hair.

"Mother?"

He has only ever seen her statue down in the crypts of Winterfell and heard people's descriptions of her. A wild beauty, they called it. But seeing her in front of him now, he knew. She smiled sadly and gave him a small nod. That was all it needed to break him; he cried then, and she took him in her arms. She caressed his head as his tears spilled onto her and he felt a sense of familial love that he had no idea he needed. "I've wanted to meet you…for so long." His arms held onto her tightly as she ran her fingers soothingly through his hair down to his cheek before cupping his face. He looked up to meet her eyes and saw a look Lady Stark always gave to his siblings, a look he always wished for, a look filled with love. Out of all the times he dreamt of meeting his mother, his biggest fear was that she did not wish to meet him. The idea that his mother would see him as everyone else did, as a bastard, frightened him more than anything else. Seeing that look now, he will never have to be afraid of that ever again. His heart clenched as he looked down, "I couldn't beat him, I failed everyone." She tilted his head up again and shook her head while pointing at herself. Then she placed her hand over her heart and another over his.

'_I love you, my son._'

"Mother, I…" Before he could finish, he felt himself moving away from her. "Please, no…Mother!" By the time he reached out his hand, she was already too far away. He saw her want to reach out for him too, but she had stopped herself. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she retracted her outstretched hand and placed it over her heart.

It was then that he noticed someone step up beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. The man looked at him with his deep purple eyes, pride glimmering within them, as he placed his other hand over his heart. "Fa-?"

"GET UP JON!" His eyes snapped open upon hearing Arya's voice. The winter roses were gone but the blue flames still covered him and Rhaegal, yet the heat no longer held the same bite as it did before. He remembered the pair of deep purple eyes that watched over him. '_You are Jaehaerys Targaryen, fire cannot kill a dragon._'

"Rhaegal!" Words were unnecessary as the dragon followed his command and expanded its wings as wide as possible, catching the wind and slowing their descent. The soldiers atop Winterfell's walls quickly cleared out of the way as they saw the dragon crash towards them, but Rhaegal adjusted his wings so that their fall turned into a glide. "Sōvegon!" Rhaegal took two steps on Winterfell's walls that left the stone beneath his talons damaged but not broken and took off again with a flap of its wings that created winds so strong it nearly carried people off their feet. The dragon roared as it took to the skies once more, spitting fire and diving through its own breath to cleanse itself of the blue flames. A stray ember caught Jon's hair tie and unleashed his dark brown hair, letting it flow freely in the wind like the hair of his father.

The Night King was not pleased; having thought to have bested the human when it sent his dragon crashing towards the ground. Now he rose again, coming at him with his Valyrian bastard sword drawn. Where did his fear of falling go? So be it, he thought as he materialized an ice spear in his hand, he would meet the human's challenge head-on. As the distance between them shrunk, he met his eyes once more and felt a strange feeling in his chest. Was this excitement…or was it fear?

Arya watched as the inevitable clash approached, but to her surprise, it never did. Rhaegal ascended out of the way and what happened next took her breath away. The dragon did a loop through the air that had Jon nearly hanging upside down. Its jade-green wings gracefully flowed through the night sky. She had never seen anything so beautiful and awe-inspiring. Only then did she realize why history referred to it as the Dance of Dragons. Jon was now positioned behind the Night King, attacking him from above. The dance was over, and the soldiers cheered as the undead dragon fell from the sky.

* * *

When Bran opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the room at the Red Keep. Once again, he had made irreversible changes to the past. A red mark on the history book that will bleed onto the next page. '_The past is already written. The ink is dry._' He remembered the words of the last Three-Eyed Raven, the man who was once Brynden Rivers. It was meant to happen, just as with Hodor. He had seen it, the victory for mankind. The answers lied in the past and there was only one way to it, this was a necessary sacrifice for the achievement of the greater good. Bran did not dwell on it for long, the responsibility of the Three-Eyed Raven was to preserve the world, and he will do it no matter how much blood must flow. '_Even the blood of your own family?_' He could not answer that question. '_You are not ready. Even now, after all that you've seen._'

"Brandon Stark." The sound of his name shook him out of his thoughts as he thought he had been spotted. But as he looked around, he saw that it was not him that has been called on but a man with a long face, brown hair and grey eyes that was sitting against a weirwood tree. "With this, it will be done," said the man as a few Children of the Forest approached him.

"You don't have to do this," said one of the Children which Bran recognized as Leaf. "They call you the Last Hero but that does not mean you have to bear the burden alone."

"Enough," said Brandon as he put his hand up to signal that he had no interest in reconsidering. A gust of freezing winter wind drew their attention to the clearing in the woods and out of the shadow of the trees came the Night King. Bran could feel that he was weakened but the Night King let none of it show in his poise and posture as he approached them with footsteps that left no trail on the snow he walked on. Although they looked tense, the Stark man and the Children were not alarmed by his entrance. The Children stood up, but the Stark man did not, which earned him a look of disdain from their new companion. "Curtesy from our last battle," said the Stark as he showed the ugly scar on his legs that left him a cripple. The Great Other looked to have accepted the excuse but the look of hatred did not disappear from his eyes.

The Children were the first to move as they stood between the Night King and Brandon Stark. "By the Old Gods beyond counting as our witnesses, let the Pact be upheld by both sides." The two extended their hands and were both cut by a piece of dragonglass. As the blood trickled down from their hands onto the ground, the Children of the Forest muttered a prayer that was in a language Bran did not understand before releasing their hands. "The oath has been sealed in blood, it is complete."

With that said, the Night King turned his back to them and began to slowly raise his hands. There was a sudden large jolt followed by more strong shaking that was so violent that the Children had a hard time remaining standing. Dark clouds gathered above them and the leaves of the weirwood trees swayed ominously. Above the tree line, a structure made of ice, stone, and earth rose into the sky, higher than any structure Brandon has ever seen. It stretched on for so long that he thought it may have even connected the two ends of the sea. When the Wall was complete, it had completely blotted out the sun from view and the shadow it cast had swallowed up the land around them. Brandon's heart beat widely in his chest as he was reminded what kind of being they were facing.

The Night King turned around and met Brandon Stark's eyes. '_One last show of his power._' Having given his non-verbal warning, the Night King left as quickly as he came, leaving the human and the Children to reflect on what they just agreed to. "What now?" Leaf asked shakily once the Night King was out of view.

"You must reinforce it with your magic. If he can build it, then he can tear it down just as easily," said Brandon as he tried to calm his breathing.

"What about you?"

"I will gather an order of men who will fortify the Wall and serve as watchmen, should _they_ ever decide to come back. The Night's Watch, a shield that will guard against the Long Night."

"And the sacrifices…?"

Brandon sighed. "Criminals will be given a chance to take the Black to correct their ways and regain their honor. If they show no such improvement, then…" He took a deep breath before continuing. "It will also be where I take my Other bride with whom I will father children named Stark. They will rule Winterfell and serve as a reminder of our oath."

"I guess you will be the 1st Lord Commander of the Night's Watch then."

"No, not the first. In honor of the twelve brothers that fought with me and died, I will be the 13th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

A chill ran down Bran's back as he listened to the founder of his house, Brandon 'The Builder.' '_13__th__… That means…_' The scene of the Night's King death flashed before his eyes; bleeding in the snow as he crawled toward his wife. The last words that left his mouth as he watched the sacred pact being broken were…winter is coming.

* * *

***Author's Note: Apologies for the delay, things got busy (and they still are) but I'm going to try and cut some time out of my schedule to write from now on. This story still has a place in my heart and I'm not ready to abandon it.**

**GulfYankee23: Yeah I agree that Sansa's reaction towards Dany was unwarranted for how much help they were getting and given Dany's history of (mostly) good deeds in Essos. Reviews are by far the thing that motivates me the most so I'm always excited to answer the reviews of my readers. I'm happy you are enjoying the content so far and sorry for not updating during Thanksgiving. I hope to pick it back up now and see your reviews once more.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 – The Long Night**

"Archers! Knock! Draw! Loose!" Volleys upon volleys of dragonglass tipped and flaming arrows were unleashed upon the army of the dead. Without their calvary making rounds to harass their enemy, the wights have already made their way past the second barricade and were encroaching upon the living's last line of defense before the walls of Winterfell. The Unsullied, true to Greyworm's words, had yet to allow any past them, but it was clear to everyone that even their legendary discipline would not be able to withstand any more pressure than this.

Everyone was so focused on the battle on the ground that no one had the luxury of looking up at the battle in the sky. At least not until the battle in the sky began crashing down upon them. "Clear the walls!" ordered Brienne when she saw Rhaegal gliding towards them. One soldier froze at the sight of the giant winged monster that was about to crush them all but luckily for him, Jaime dragged him away by the scuff of his armor with his one good hand just in time for both of them to avoid getting squashed by the dragon's feet.

"T-Thank you, ser!" said the soldier as he got up shakily.

Jaime responded with a nod, noting that it was the first time a Northerner, other than Bran, referred to him as a ser and not the Kingslayer since he arrived at Winterfell. When Rhaegal roared as it took off once more, Jaime could not help but follow with his eyes. When he saw Jon Snow fall, in the back of his mind, he had thought it was the end. The man was unconscious from what he saw but when his sister screamed for him to get up, his eyes had snapped open like a man possessed. Looking at him now; riding atop a dragon, hair untied, and Valyrian sword drawn, Jon Snow looked like the Targaryen conquerors of old. He has only ever known one man who possessed such an aura of grace, confidence, and mysticism. For a split second, Jaime thought he was watching Rhaegar Targaryen, reborn from the dragonfire, ride off into battle.

As the two dragons rapidly approached each other, Jaime felt like he was watching the final tilt of a joust, except what came next was quite literally what songs were made out of. When Jon Snow came back around to deal the finishing blow to his opponent, the adrenaline that came from watching that fight was so high that he couldn't help but let out a loud cheer along with the others. The world had stopped moving as everyone watched the Night King fall from the sky. After the initial cheer for Jon Snow's victory, everyone held their breath for what came next. The wights that were at their door collapsed one by one onto the ground, like puppets who've had their strings cut from their master. Was it over? Had they won?

Jon Snow left such fantasies behind. He would see the job through to the end and make sure it is finished. Flying over to where the Night King had fallen, Rhaegal let out a breath of dragonfire so powerful that it could have brought down the Red Keep itself. The bright orange flames engulfed everything below them and incinerated anything that was within even fifty yards of the blast radius. The undead dragon laid at the center of the attack and Viserion let out one last cry before it succumbed to the flames, forever freed from the shackles of the Night King's dark magic. When Rhaegal was finished, the ground was a sea of fire that was burnt black to the earth's crust.

Nobody could survive that…right? But still, they did not dare cheer for fear of incurring the gods' disfavor. The entire north was silent as a grave apart from the sound of the crackling flames until a single sound broke that tranquil silence. Their hearts sank as a figure emerged from within the flames. The wights that had previously fallen began getting up as well. However, it was not the sight of the dead rising that struck fear in their hearts but the figure of the Night King with his sinister smile as he slowly clapped his hands.

The White Walker generals joined their king in his applause and Sansa saw a sickening resemblance to some of the courts held in King's Landing. As if all of this was nothing but a show to be enjoyed. When the applause finally ended, the Night King let out a screech that grated her ears. The sound was mirrored across the battlefield and suddenly, the wights let out a demonic scream and began a frenzied sprint towards the castle. Their speed almost rivaled that of a horse and the legs of some of the more weathered dead simply broke under the pressure. Those would fall and would be trampled without regard. To make matters worse, undead giants and mammoths stepped out of the storm on the horizon. As the ground shook beneath the marching of his army now at full strength, the Night King cracked his neck and began marching as well.

"Light the trench!" Tyrion ordered as he saw their situation worsen dramatically. No matter how skilled the Unsullied were, there was no way they would be able to hold against giants. "Sound the retreat and get the Unsullied behind the gate!"

Davos didn't need to be told twice as he raised two torches in the air and signaled for the trench to be lit. Meanwhile, the horn of retreat was sounded and while Greyworm loathed the idea of failing his queen, the number of Unsullied soldiers was rapidly diminishing after the dead began their frenzied charge. The once strong shield wall was now being punctured full of holes and soon their entire formation would collapse. "_Dovaogēdy! Ropagon arlī_ (Unsullied! Fall back)!" ordered Greyworm the moment the trench was lit but to his surprise, as he looked back, the flames that surrounded Winterfell were not red but green.

"When did you…" Sansa asked as she watched the dark emerald and jade green flames of the Wildfire consume the wights that were trying to charge through the trench.

"Curtesy from Cersei, as a show of good faith for the 'alliance'" Tyrion answered. "Just because you know someone is going to betray you, doesn't mean you can't extract value from them." Even in these weather conditions, the volatile element had ignited instantly and would stay ablaze for a long time. But Tyrion did not look relieved at all, this was only a temporary patch and even Wildfire will eventually die out. Before that happened, he needed to think of a way to get them out of this situation. Or else soon they'll be finding themselves as replacements for the army of the dead.

But before Tyrion could even put two thoughts together, several wights rained down from the sky into the castle. From afar, he saw the giants catapult the wights over the walls with their immense strength. Such battle tactics were not even within the realms of his imagination before, much less a part of any books he's read on warfare. Chaos broke out as these dead soldiers got up, as if nothing happened, and began attacking the soldiers from within. They would be easily taken care of but these distractions from within are costly when the enemies are approaching from outside at the same time.

"My Lady, it is no longer safe here. Go to the South Gate and prepare a horse. Should the castle fall-"

"I'm not abandoning our people! Where would I even be able to run to if Winterfell falls?"

Tyrion didn't know the answer to that, but he wasn't in the mood to debate. He just needed her out of harm's way so that he could think without having to be worried about her safety. Before he could respond, a wight fell straight in front of them. Arya pulled out Needle in the blink of an eye and before the wight could take two steps towards them, she had pierced the skinny blade through its eye. "Listen to him Sansa, I can't fight and protect you at the same time," said Arya without a hint of remorse.

It hurt to hear her sister say that, but Sansa finally understood that it was necessary. The weak don't get to choose. She could only swallow back her tears, "Come back to me, baby sister." The words 'I love you' was stuck in her throat, she didn't know if she would be able to leave if she said them. After all this time, to finally have put aside their differences and share a sisterly bond for the first time, only to lose it all. How would she be able to live on if she lost her family again? She felt rooted in place, unable to leave but unable to stay either.

When she felt a pair of soft hands around hers, she looked down and saw Tyrion holding her hand as he stared into her eyes. The green flames of Wildfire were dancing in his green eyes and she saw the worry that was within them. A worry so deep that the intensity matched the fire of the substance. "I will take care of her, you have my word, Sansa," he whispered so that only she could hear. It was then that she realized that the worry was for her. Not for the state of the battle that would decide the fate of the world but for her safety and well-being. '_Even now…_'

"I'll place my faith in you then," said Sansa and she immediately saw the visible look of relief on his scarred face. "Take care of yourself as well, Tyrion," she added before leaving.

* * *

From the sky, Jon tried to give support to the ground troops by raining fire down on the dead, but several generals kept Rhaegal at bay with their ice javelins. Having suffered many injuries from his battle with his undead brother, Rhaegal wasn't able to dodge the attacks as easily as he was before. He saw the generals break off into three groups, the first and largest one joined the Night King on his march towards Winterfell, the second was tasked with keeping him and Rhaegal in check while the third was moving away from the castle. '_Dany…_' He didn't have time to think. Looking back at the castle, he saw that the trench had been lit. '_That'll buy them some time._' Without the dragons, the living is hopelessly outmatched nonetheless, they'll have to hold for a little while on their own. The second and third group of generals were way smaller compared to the first. He'll draw the second group out with him towards Daenerys, and once he finishes them off, only then will he be able to properly rejoin the battlefield. '_Stay strong everyone._'

* * *

Back on the field, _Helech_ and the other generals pushed their undead steep as fast as they could go to make up the distance between them and their Father. But the living didn't just sit idly by; the ballistic device that sat on top their walls launched fireballs that felled a couple of the brethren that rode beside him. It mattered little to him; the weak would die just as they did in the first war. How long has he waited for this moment? How many millenniums has it been since his spear last tasted the blood of man? To be given the gift of immortality meant that his life had a purpose. To wait on endlessly in the Lands of Always Winter was not a purpose. Riding here, on a battlefield against mankind, that was his purpose. Simply recalling the glorious memories of their first war was enough to stir his bloodlust and he couldn't help but let out a bloodcurdling battlecry as he stood up in his saddle and raised his spear.

His cry echoed across the battlefield, no doubt by his brothers who were just as excited as he was. There were but ten of them left from the Long Night. Originally twelve but _Iarhúl _died while retrieving one of the sacrifices and _Rohar _died when Father sent him to kill the one that was promised. _Iarhúl_'s death he did not witness, but _Rohar_'s he had. A foolish death; caught by surprise when his magic did not break his opponent's blade. His thoughts were interrupted when a flaming arrow flew at his head. A slight tilt allowed him to dodge it but many more were coming. These long-ranged weapons the humans used only showed how afraid they were at getting close to death. He raised his spear and parried a few of the arrows but a stray one caught the eye of his ride, causing it to collapse under him.

The fall that would have crushed a few human bones was of no consequence to him but these obsidian tipped arrows were indeed a threat. Parrying each one of them was a nuisance so instead, _Helech_ ordered hundreds of wights to pile in front of him to act as a shield while he proceeded towards the fort on foot. From this distance, he could spot the defenders that were manning the walls and he could not stop himself from grinning from ear to ear. The blue eyes of the White Walkers had nothing but emptiness in them, but those eyes were so full of emotions; fear, courage, determination, frustration, rage. Colors that mesmerized him, that drew him to them. Thinking back on it now, he had fought so often on the frontlines that the humans began to recognize him. What did they call him again, in their tongue? The wall of wight opened up for a split second to allow him to toss his spear at one of the defenders. The spear flew at a speed that was faster than anything a human could react to and it punctured right through the defender's chest and out his back. Before the humans could retaliate, the wall of wight closed again and another ice spear materialized in his hand. '_Ah that's right, I remember now, they called me…Impaler._'

"Fuck me," Tyrion cursed as he watched the White Walker continue its approach behind the wall of wights towards the Hunter's Gate to their west. "Continue to focus him, do not let him get close to the trenches!" He did not know whether or not the general would be able to do anything about it but after witnessing the Night King survive Rhaegal's attack, he wasn't ready to leave it up to chance. However, the spear-thrower wasn't his only worry. Looking back to the north, he saw a platoon of wights led by a White Walker that held a double-bladed sword and a hulking White Walker that stood at least two feet taller than his companion.

The one with the double-bladed sword employed a strategy similar to the spear-thrower and surrounded himself with wights but the other one did not. That one did not command wights to act as a shield for him because he carried one himself. A tower shield made of pure ice that may have been taller than the Mountain himself. The archers couldn't even slow him down and soon he was in front of the trench. With one hand holding up his shield, his other grabbed the nearest wight and tossed it into the green flames. When the dead burst into flames, the half-giant tossed another one in and another. '_Thank the gods this one is about as smart as the Mountain as well._' The highly flammable wights would not be good building blocks for a bridge to cross over. It was just more fuel to the fire as far as Wildfire was concerned.

When the brute finally realized that this plan wasn't going to work, he stopped and let out a glass-shattering cry. For a moment, Tyrion thought nothing of it but when the White Walkers and their minions cleared a path to the gate, he realized what they were intending to do. Jon Snow had told him about the attack on Castle Black, when Mance Rayder had giants and their mammoths siege the gate that blocked the tunnel through the Wall. Hearing about it was one thing but seeing this was something else entirely. Nine undead mammoths charged at the North Gate with a head full of steam. Tyrion could have sworn that he felt the castle shaking beneath his feet, from the mammoths' charge or from his knees going weak he wasn't sure which. The undead siege engines had no regard for the wights that were still in their way and they certainly won't have any for Winterfell's gate. At the speed they were going at, they were going to smash straight through the trench.

"FUCK ME! DAVOS QUICKLY! DO IT NOW!"

Tyrion didn't hear a response. In fact, he couldn't hear anything at all. All he saw was a flash of green before the ground in front of the trenches exploded into the air. The force of the explosion tore the undead mammoths apart, flinging their prehistoric body parts across the battlefield. All nine of the charging death machines were dead for good now but as with the Battle of the Blackwater, Tyrion could only play this trick once. He had staved off the attack, but it had been meant to take out the Night King himself. Before he even had a chance to breathe a sigh of relief, his heart dropped as the ground began shaking again. A trailer, a single mammoth that was behind the initial charge, was now charging at them uncontested. The soldiers looked to him for guidance, but he had nothing for them. Nothing but silence as the giant beast charged through the Wildfire and smashed through the trenches. Completely engulfed by the Wildfire at this point, the flaming mammoth crashed through Winterfell's last defense, pulverizing several soldiers within the vicinity, before finally collapsing down.

The dead have breached the gate.

Without a second's hesitation, Eddison Tollett, the acting Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, unsheathed his blade. "Brothers! With me!"

"Soldiers, arm yourself!" Brienne ordered as she drew Oathkeeper, followed by Jaime with Widow's Wail.

The courtyard instantly filled up with the forces of the living forming a human wall against the dead that poured through the gate. Northmen and Free Folk banded together as they cut down one wight after another while the Unsullied did their best to shore up their defenses. But with each one they put to rest, two more seemed to take its place.

From the front battlement, Arya watched as their forces engaged the dead and instinctively went to join the fight. But before she could leave, her arm was held by Tyrion. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Are you blind, deaf or dumb? The dead have breached the North Gate, I need to go help!"

"And how many do you think you'll be able to cut down before the dead overwhelms you?"

"More than I can staying here," Arya said as she tightened her jaw. "Let go of me, I won't ask again."

"If you are the assassin you think you are," said Tyrion as he tightened his grip and met her glare with his own, "that I think you are, then you must stay your hand until it is the right time to play it. A swing of your blade can wipe out hundreds of them. You go down there, you'll kill a few dozen before you are forced to retreat."

Arya gritted her teeth as she looked back at the battle that raged on in the courtyard just below them. It wasn't supposed to be like this; she wanted to fight and defend her home as the rest of them did, yet she had no answer to Tyrion. "My brother is down there." Arya looked back at him and saw the fierce determination that was within his eyes. "You don't think I want to give the order for every soldier in this castle to go down there? I would go down there with a fucking axe myself if I thought that gave us a higher chance of winning! But it won't because I'm a dwarf and I'm more useful using this," he said as he pointed to his head, "than an axe. And you're more useful from the shadow than on the frontline. Do you understand?"

Arya could do nothing, but nod and Tyrion finally let go of her arm. Their conversation was interrupted when an out of breath soldier ran up the stairs. "My Lord Hand, report from the East Gate!"

"Well, what is it?" Tyrion asked impatiently.

The young lad was visibly terrified as he swallowed nervously. "Spiders."

* * *

***Author's Note: Hope you all enjoyed the chapter and thanks to everyone who has followed and favorited this story so far! If you have any comments or criticism, feel free to leave a review because honestly, nothing motivates me more than seeing what my readers think of the story!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 – The Long Night II**

Ice spiders big as hounds. That was how the legend goes. Not ice spiders big as a fucking horse. "AHHHH!" Tormund roared as he hacked off the front leg of the spider in front of him. The overgrown insect collapsed to the ground and the Wildling berserker finished it off by jamming his blade into its head. The spider's greenish-purple blood splashed onto his face with a little going into his mouth. Sour and bitter at the same time. "I fucking hate spiders."

These creatures were straight out of a nightmare; giant spiders with eight creepy legs that allowed them to scale the walls of the castle like it was nothing but a small hill. They attack by launching their entire body at you and once they take you down onto the ground, it's over. Their legs hold your limbs down while their fangs gouge your face out. The screaming is inevitable but what's worse is that you're left as a faceless thing that no longer resembles a human. Not something anyone wants to be remembered as.

"We can't hold them!" shouted a wildling beside him.

"We hold them!" Tormund shouted back. "Jon Snow told us to defend the East Gate and that's what we're gonna do!"

Another spider came over the wall and crawled toward them at an unnerving speed. Watching these monsters approach them broke the spirit of some of the Wildlings, causing them to flee in fear. But that just made it easy pickings for the spider who immediately jumped on the back of one of the deserters. "NOOOO! PLEASE! HELP ME!" His screams were silenced by a sick crunching sound as the spider chewed on his skull.

"Fuck Jon Snow and fuck this! I'm out of here!" said the wildling beside him. Before the coward could flee and bring down the morale of the soldiers around them, Tormund slashed open his neck.

"Anyone else want to leave?!" Nobody said a word or made a move to leave. Facing giant spiders was scary but it could not compare to the crazy ginger that was leading them. There were a little over twenty spiders still alive; they were able to keep half of them at bay when the monsters initially tried to climb over but eventually, they were forced back to where they are now. They would need to contain this problem to their side of the castle, otherwise, these things would cause serious issues to the North Gate.

"Come on!" The free folk led by Tormund roared as they charged into battle while the spiders lunged at them in response. Tormund ducked as the first spider flew over him and came face to face with a second one. The monster slashed at him with its front leg, but Tormund was able to parry the attack with his right and counter with his left. The dragonglass machete sliced the leg clean off and the spider let out a hiss of pain before retreating a few steps. A clear liquid that looked like drool started dripping out of the spider's mouth and before Tormund even had a chance to react, the spider spat out the ball of liquid right onto his upper right shoulder.

The liquid quickly permeated through his fur clothing, reaching the skin beneath. It was cold and sticky but more importantly, he was beginning to feel numb over where the liquid had touched. Sensing that its poison had taken root, the spider attacked him ferociously despite being down one front leg. At first, Tormund was still able to fight with his right arm despite the challenge but soon, his range of motion shrank to the point where he was unable to move it. His opponent seized that opportunity and pounced on him with its entire weight, knocking him down to the ground. Knowing what came next, Tormund put his other machete in between the spider's fangs and his face. The overgrown insect viciously pressed down to get to its meal and, with only one good arm, Tormund would not be able to hold for much longer.

He screamed as he struggled with all the strength he had when suddenly, he felt a flicker of hope. The feeling from his other arm was coming back. The poison was wearing off and he could feel the tip of his fingers move. His other machete was within reach; if he could only get a bit more movement from his arm then he could use it to kill the monster that was on top of him. But it was not to be as the spider, instinctively knowing that its poison was wearing off, got up on its hind legs so that it could give a finishing blow while the human was still half-paralyzed. Tormund's eyes grew wide as he watched the spider bring down its sickle-like claws. His life did not flash before his eyes, only a blur of white did. The next thing he knew, the spider was off of him and he could hear the sound of its body getting torn to pieces by fangs and claws.

Only when he got up did he realize that he had just been saved by Ghost, the albino wolf that was always close to Jon Snow. While it was docile and well-behaved in the presence of its master; looking at it now, the beast truly lived up to the legends about direwolves. Five-feet in length and tall enough to be at his chest even in its natural position on all four legs. The greenish-purple blood of the spider now stained its white fur after it was finished with its prey. Its garnet-red eyes met his and at that moment, he knew that him being saved was no coincidence. "Alright lads, let's clean this mess up!"

Just like their masters, the spiders were also deathly afraid of fire and once it was discovered, the living took advantage of that information. With the help of the direwolf on their side, the rest of the spiders were easily overpowered, cornered and slaughtered. Many were victims of the spiders' poison, but it burned through just as quickly as it acted. Some had died and even Ghost had lost part of its right ear fighting, but it was as good as it was going to get against giant ice spiders. "I owe the boy a drink after all this," said Tormund as he petted Ghost on the head. The direwolf turned its head towards him and looked genuinely insulted, "and you, of course. Ever had roasted reindeer before?" Ghost's ears perked up at the sound of that and Tormund let out a hearty laugh. "Roasted reindeer it is."

"Tormund, look!"

Over the wall, they saw two or three dozen more ice spiders approach the castle, escorted by wights this time. "Get in position!" Everyone followed his order, except for Ghost, who ran off to one of the guard towers.

"Where is the wolf going?!"

"How the fuck would I know?" They all watched Ghost curiously as he climbed to the top of the tower and began howling at the moon. Within moments, countless howls answered back from the forest and before the soldiers could even register what had happened, a pack of a hundred wolves led by a direwolf with grey fur dashed out of the clearing and began systematically hunting the spiders and wights. While they may not have been able to 'kill' the wights, they were able to tear all their limbs off and render them useless. As for the spiders, they were just game like any other animal who dared challenge Nymeria's pack. In the wilds of the northern Riverlands, her pack competed with all kinds of predators, from bears to shadowcats, and Nymeria has never been bested.

The hunt did not last long. Atop the guard tower of her old home, she saw her littermate staring back at her. Growing up, the white one was not always with the rest of them. He was different and quiet, but he was still family. They were the last of their litter and she would not ignore his call. Arya was also somewhere within the castle. Even after all these years separated from each other, their bond still held strong. If it were not for the wall of green fire, she would have gone to join her master. But as of now, it was not possible to reunite with her, so she'll have to settle with watching over her from afar. She howled one last time toward Ghost before retreating into the forest for another flank.

* * *

While the living were able to secure a small victory at the East Gate, they were slowly getting pushed back at the North Gate where hundreds of wights were pouring in from. Each man and woman there defending must have killed more than ten wights each, but there was still no end in sight. The dead fought tirelessly but for the living, each swing of their sword was a little less energy and each shot fired was one less arrow.

In the middle of the foray, fighting beside his commander, was Jaime Lannister. He was no stranger to the battlefield, nor did he ever shy away from the frontlines. He relished the feeling of adrenaline that came from crossing swords with a foe face to face. In those times, life or death was decided in a split second and that's when he felt the most alive. But this was different. There was no thrill of battle here, only the feeling that he was slowly getting strangled. These things that rose from the dead did not fight for survival, they fought to wear them down. There was no glory to be won in victory nor honor to be had in defeat, only death lied ahead.

"Stand firm!" Brienne's voice was as sharp as her Valyrian sword, cutting through the chaos of battle and dragging him out of his dark thoughts. She moved brilliantly, better than when he fought her last. She had been all fundamentals back then, but now, with some real battles under her belt, her transitions were more fluid and adaptable. He felt like he was a boy again, ten and six, squiring for Ser Barristan Selmy. She wasn't as perfect as Barristan the Bold was but that feeling of fighting for a good cause, for justice, for honor, beside someone he respected, that was still there.

A bit of vigor flowed back into his body, fueling his spirit and sharpening his senses. "Hold the line!" he shouted as he added a few more to the body count of wights he has put down, a number that nobody would believe possible to come from a cripple. With only one hand, he was less than half the fighter he once was, but he was at a point where he didn't have to do mental gymnastics just to figure out how to swing his sword. His fighting style now crutched on his talented footwork and instinct from experience, and if there was one thing this gilded steel hand was good for it was blocking. He was never one to fight with a shield since why block when you can just kill your opponent? But now that it became difficult to kill his opponent, blocking was a good way to stay alive.

Just as he was getting into a good rhythm, a deep chill rang down his spine and he turned to the broken gate. Surrounded by wights, with slow and steady steps, the first White Walker past through the gates of Winterfell. The ice demon's physique did not differ much from a human's, apart from small white horns that protruded out of its skull, but its presence was certainly felt. Armed with a double-bladed sword made out of dark ice, the only word Jaime could describe it with was menacing. He was not the only one that felt this way, some soldiers even took an instinctive step back when they laid eyes on the Other. Two more White Walkers entered but they, for some reason, lacked the same presence as the first one did. They were still terrifying, but _Menace_ felt ancient, like it has always existed and will always exist. Not to mention the amount of bloodlust that was just oozing out of it like a black fog. Some soldiers just followed orders, but others enjoyed the acts of violence on the battlefield, and this one was definitively the latter.

The three White Walkers joined the fray and the tide of battle instantly worsened. The capable warriors struggled mightily against the regular ice demons but stood no chance against _Menace_. It twirled its double-bladed sword as it advanced on the defenders and nobody was able to stand against its continuous attacks. The commander of the crows fought bravely, at least he was willing to attack the brief opening the Other showed. But with a quick parry from one blade and a cross slash from the other, Dolorous Edd fell.

There was no time to think. All Jaime knew was that he had to stop it or else their defense here would crumble, and in the blink of an eye, the Kingslayer found himself face to face with the Other. His heart raced in his chest, with a swing of his sword he could save hundreds if not thousands of lives. A line in the White Book that would go beyond his act of kingslaying, that would redeem his honor. "Come on!" said Jaime as he clutched his sword and felt the empowering weight of the Valyrian steel. _Menace_ smirked and came at him with the same spinning attack it's been using to bulldoze through living, but Jaime was prepared for it. After the second strike, when the blade crosses over to its other shoulder for the next rotation, that split second leaves the Other completely undefended and he pounced at that opening.

A moment's hesitation and he would have fallen victim to either of its blades but if there was one thing Jaime Lannister did not lack, it was confidence in his fighting abilities. Timing it perfectly, he dived through the moving blades and caught _Menace_ with no guard available. It tried to do the same thing it did against Edd but having seen that move before, Jaime used his right hand to trap the blade that was coming for the block and thrust his sword toward its chest. The Valyrian steel was within inches of reaching the Other before _Menace _let out a loud screech that caused a cold shockwave that sent Jaime flying backward. Landing on his back knocked the air out of him but luckily nothing was broken. He got up as fast as he could and saw that the ice demon was winded from whatever it just did. Hundreds of wights around them and outside of the castle collapsed with no sign of getting back up again. The two other White Walkers were clearly surprised that _Menace_ had been pushed this far and turned their attention onto Jaime, but they were called off by the crackling voice of their leader.

_Menace_ slowly straightened up and held his double-bladed sword out like a spear. Jaime swallowed nervously, it was a much more disciplined form than before and it would undoubtedly be harder to break through than the previous careless spinning. It wasn't going to underestimate him this time and while his ego was satisfied, his chances of survival just went down drastically. The assault began immediately as _Menace_ unleashed a flurry of attacks that struck with the power of a greatsword and moved at the speed of a dagger. The edge in weapon choice was showing as each of _Menace's _strikes was half a tempo faster than a normal sword's and Jaime was forced on the defensive retreat. '_I can't keep up!_' He was slow to react to a slash from up high, and the blade blew past his arm-guard and left a nasty cut above his eye.

The wound would scar but the problem became the blood that flowed down into his right eye, clouding his vision in red. It needed to be stitched up otherwise he would not last another minute without his full vision. However, his opponent gave him no such rest and continued to pressure him with blow after blow. Jaime fought with all the strength he could muster but the power of the Other was overwhelming, and it brought him to his knees. As he looked up into those cold merciless blue eyes, he knew that this was the end. He gritted his teeth as _Menace_ raised his double-bladed sword, if this was the end then so be it. He would not scream, he would die with his Lannister pride intact. The blade came for his neck and he wondered if losing his head would feel the same as when he lost his hand. But right before the blade could reach him, a flash of steel stopped it in its track. The ensuing ring from the clash between Valyrian steel and the White Walker's ice weapon nearly deafened him.

The blade had come so close to taking his head off that Brienne's sword was almost touching his neck to stop it. A bit more and the White Walker would be able to force both blades through him, but Brienne's guard would not break. "ARGH!" she screamed as she summoned up all of her strength and finally pushed away _Menace's_ sword, causing the Other to take a step back. "Can you still fight?" she asked without taking her eyes off her opponent.

"I can," said Jaime as he stood up off the ground and tried not to stumble. The truth was that he was exhausted from keeping death at bay for so long, but he would be damned if he allowed her to fight that thing by herself. "It can swing that thing a lot faster than you think."

"One blade each then."

"Think you can handle it, Lady Brienne?" asked Jaime as he shook off the soreness from his arm and shoulder.

"I've bested you once before, Kingslayer." The two smiled; although he was outclassed by himself, he was filled with confidence now that he had a skilled fighter he believed in fighting beside him. "Let's do this!"

_Menace_ switched his stance to a quarterstaff grip as the two knights rushed him. He was able to keep both blades in front to defend himself but right away he found himself on the defensive. The two humans were synchronizing their strikes and covering for each other. Whenever he blocked an attack and tried to retaliate, the other would always keep his second blade in check. While the man lacked the speed and power, he fought smartly to open up attacks of opportunity for his partner. Even though the woman by herself would not have been a match for him, she put him under immense pressure thanks to the help she was getting. '_I need to separate them._'

They were winning. He could feel it as their swords came closer and closer to landing a killing blow against the White Walker. It had tried to use the wights as distractions, but they were able to quickly take care of them before rejoining together in the two-on-one battle against _Menace_. In a bout of anger, the Other lashed out at Brienne with a careless attack that she easily deflected. This allowed Jaime to jump in and attack it while its defenses were weak. His sword was blocked by the ice demon's second blade, but he did manage to use his prosthetic arm to backhand it right across the chin. The Other stumbled backward and wiped away the blue blood that trickled down its lips. It shot him a dirty look and Jaime knew that this being, that thought itself a god compared to humans, was burning with shame and rage over the fact that it had just been hit by a cripple. He almost had the urge to laugh but there would be plenty of time for that later.

Several wights swarmed them again and although he was still tired from his fight with the White Walker, the end was in sight. If they could defeat _Menace_, the tide of battle may turn in their favor. Instilled with a sense of hope, Jaime began to quickly cut down the dead that was blocking his way. But suddenly, a wight that was catapulted by the undead giants landed behind him and latched onto his back. Threatening to take him down to the ground, Jaime quickly backed into a wall, crushing the undead skeleton against the stones of the castle with his armor. However, now that his back was against the wall, several wights surrounded him, and with no room to escape to, Jaime got pinned against it as each wight tried to take a bite out of his face. The putrid smell of decay that was coming out of their rotten mouths was suffocating but still, Jaime did all he could do to push back the wights that were on him.

Luckily for him, Brienne still had his back, or front in this case, as she cut down the wights that were pinning him to the wall, freeing him to cut down the rest. "Where is _Menace_?" asked Jaime.

Brienne didn't even need to ask who Jaime was referring to. "It's trying to escape! Come on!" The two knights chased after the White Walker, but it was already at the gate and they weren't going to make it. However, they weren't the only one that was keeping an eye on the White Walker. Several men from Bear Island, led by Lyanna Mormont, came to stand between _Menace_ and the gate. The young girl was a she-bear through and through as she raised her axe in the air and shouted out her house words, "Here we stand!" _Menace_ responded with an ice-shattering roar in response and engaged the Mormonts. The men from bear island fought as fiercely as the animal that was on their sigil, but _Menace_ returned it threefold. Jaime and Brienne hurried as fast as they could but more wights were coming to block their way. Even outnumbered, the Other was still cleaving through them with his double-bladed sword. Without the right strategy to keep his two blades in check, the ice demon was unmatched in speed and power.

Seeing that the northmen would not hold out for much longer, Brienne pushed herself to make short work of the dead that was stopping her to go help them out. Jaime was still cutting down the ones stopping him, but he would be able to manage the few that were left. The last of the men guarding Lyanna Mormont was cut down and all that remained between _Menace_ and the gate was the heir to Bear Island. She showed more bravery than grown men that were four times her age, but bravery was not enough. "NO!" shouted Brienne as _Menace_ drove his sword through the breastplate of the little girl. Blood spilled out of her mouth before her body went limp and _Menace _stepped on her body to pull his blade out of her chest.

'_In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent._' Not even one night had passed and she had already forsaken her vows as a knight. She gritted her teeth as she watched _Menace_ wipe the blood of the fierce little girl off his blade. "Monster!" Brienne charged at it with strength she didn't know she had. A fire was burning within her and it will not be quenched until justice is served. '_I swear to all the gods I will kill you!_' Oathkeeper felt hot in her hands, like it was lending her strength to honor her words. _Menace_ was unleashing its attacks the same as before, but she was keeping up with them. She could clearly see all of its attacks and the windows of opportunity that came with them. A parry into a thrust to the face left a streak of blue blood across its cheek. The pale skin of the White Walker melted at the contact of the Valyrian steel and _Menace_ screamed in pain as it backed away immediately.

Jaime was speechless. Brienne was moving so quickly that it looked like she was wielding two swords at the same time. Her movements may have even matched Ser Arthur Dayne himself! Strength and honor, she was the embodiment of a knight and she was the symbol of justice that he will always aspire to be. _Menace_ tried to block Brienne's last attack but Oathkeeper easily sliced through the shaft of the double-bladed sword, cutting it in two and leaving an ugly crack in the ice armor of the Other. The duel was decided, she was the far better fighter. Brienne brought down Oathkeeper for the finishing blow. But _Menace _caught the blade in his hand. The hand crumbled away like broken ice but at that moment, its other hand reached for his blade and Jaime's world was plunged into darkness.

* * *

***Author's Note: Big deviation from the show now, let me know what you guys think! And yes, that fight scene is ripped out of the prequels :P Reviews help motivate me a lot so if you are liking the story so far, please take a few seconds to show some love XD**

**Guest: Appreciate the review, hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 – The Long Night III**

Consumed by rage. Jaime had never known what those words truly meant until he saw Brienne fall. In the blink of an eye, the hope in him was snuffed out. Leaving him as a shell with nothing but black rage seeping in to fill in the gaps. His vision was clouded in blood from the gash above his eye, but, nonetheless, he charged in. With no regard for his own life, he violently cut down anything that stood in his way. Most of the rusted blades the dead used could not get past his steel plate armor but the ones that did left their marks on his body. Even with the accumulating cuts, Jaime still did not care to defend himself, all that mattered was reaching that cursed White Walker and finishing it off.

The Golden Lion let out a maddened roar as his blade clashed with _Menace's_, the sight of Brienne's body fueling every one of his swings. But even having lost a hand, the ancient cold god still outmatched him. His perception, that had allowed him to survive for so long, was clouded by his anger. His blade all emotions, lacking the polish needed to defeat such a skilled opponent. Grimacing as he lunged, the White Walker read him perfectly and parried his attack while adding a knee that had Jaime heaving for air. Another premature strike earned him an elbow across his temple that made his world spin and his ears ring. With no sense of balance, the knight tried to stand up on wobbly feet but was only kicked down again.

_Menace_ thrust his sword at his stomach and Jaime braced himself for the coming darkness. There would be no redemption for him, he was a fool to believe it so. '_I am no lion or knight._' His last chapter in the White Book would be as the Kingslayer and nothing more. But the darkness never came, the ice blade stopped right before reaching him. Looking up at the Other, it had a look of shock on its face along with a new cut at its neck that sizzled with white smoke. _Menace_ dropped his blade and reached to touch it as if not sure if it was even real or not. But before its hand even made it half-way up its body, the White Walker crumbled to dust as if he was never there in the first place.

"Tyrion Lannister sends his regards," said Arya Stark as she sheathed Catspaw, the Valyrian steel dagger that Bran had given her. Wights died by the hundreds around them and without their minions, the two remaining White Walkers that were inside the castle were quickly slain. She looked back at Jaime, who still laid on the ground beaten and bloodied, with eyes that did nothing to hide her disdain for his blood and considered for a moment whether or not she should just leave him there to bleed out. They were fighting on the same side now, but does that mean she has to forget their family's history?

Jaime watched as Arya stood over him and judged him with the same eyes as her father. '_Kill me, do it!_' His eyes shouted for her to release him from his weakness and despair but when the Stark girl began to help him up, he was once again filled with rage. "He was mine to kill!" shouted Jaime as he snatched the collar of her leather armor. The girl had no reaction except for the same look of disdain she wore mixed with something that was akin to recognition. The last of his rage burned through and his grip fell away. The fatigue had finally caught up to him and he was beginning to lose consciousness. "Ser Jaime is wounded, please see to his injuries." That was the last thing he heard before his vision faded to black.

* * *

Over by the Hunter's Gate, the wights broke through the trench of Wildfire with the magic of _Impaler_, the spear-wielding White Walker leading them. The cold god's power doused the substance and opened up a path for the wights to run through. Once past the last line of defense outside of Winterfell, only the castle walls stood between them and the humans inside. While normal siege tactics would have dictated the use of ladders to climb over the walls, the dead made their own by pilling on top of one another. Clumps of hundreds of dead men stacked higher and higher, and there were simply not enough defenders to clear them all in time before the first few wights tried to climb over the wall. The shards of obsidian that were planted on the battlement kept them at bay for a moment, but soon they were covered with bodies that became cover for the wights that followed.

"Oil!" the Hound shouted as he cut down a wight that tried to climb over.

"OIL!" repeated Gendry and the command echoed down the castle wall. Vats of burning hot oil were poured onto the sieging wights but apart from burning off their already rotted skin, it did little to deter them.

"Light these fuckers up!" Torches were tossed over the wall and the heads ignited the flammable liquid causing the mountains of wights to burst like the volcanoes of the Doom. The explosion was so violent that the flames singed the top of the wall and the men were splattered with the hot oil that was splashing everywhere. "ARGH! FUCK!" the Hound yelled out in pain as he covered his face against the oil and embers that were flying over the wall. The moment he turned away from the wall, a wight hopped over the battlement and tried to drag him over the wall. Had it not been for Gendry's fast reaction with his warhammer, the Hound would have been dog meat for the dead.

The two had little time to bond over the moment as the dead started rebuilding their human ladder. Soon, the wights began spilling over the walls and despite their best efforts, more and more of them were getting into the castle. The ones that got past them did not hesitate to run through the wooden railings and jump two-story down into the courtyard. Some landed safely and ran amok, the ones that didn't resorted to crawling. In either case, the castle was plunged into chaos. The field commanders struggled to split their troops between dealing with the walkers inside the castle and defending against the ones outside. Shouts of confusion were muddled together with the inconsistent orders and at that point, the Hound was beginning to see the writing on the wall.

A few hundred meters down to the south of where they were, a giant icicle punched a hole through the battlement and the spear-wielding White Walker vaulted over. Pale white skin with cold blue eyes, there was no mistaking it, it was one of those special ones. When they went on their wild scavenger hunt beyond the Wall, he remembered how killing the White Walker would shut down the dead that was around them. Perhaps it wasn't all lost yet. "Where are you going?!" Gendry asked when the Hound stopped fighting.

"We can't win here. We need to kill that fucker over there," said the Hound as he pointed to the White Walker, "so that the rest of these cunts can die for good."

"I'll come with you then!"

"Do as you like."

* * *

Daenerys' eyes were shut but she could hear the sound of the dead closing in around her. She could feel Drogon's pain as sharply as her own as her child tried his best to defend her. Loud screeches of pain tore at her heart, but she did not dare to wish for them to end, for it would mark the death of another one of her children. In her fevered vision, she once again saw the snow-covered Iron Throne. Another screech of pain from Drogon…or was that Rhaegal? The kraken's large tentacles came out of the dark sea and dragged her child into the ocean's coffin. She was alone. Ser Barristan? Jorah? Missandei? Jon? Where are you? She was lying at the feet of the throne, never having climbed it. She felt cold, but then a wave of warmth washed over her. She heard the sound of Rhaegal's cry, strong and alive, and when she opened her eyes, dark grey eyes stared down at her.

"Jon…what are you-"

"I came here to lead a group of White Walkers away, they're taken care of now, and to check up on you," he said with his soft and soothing Northern accent as he changed the bandage around her head. "I'm leaving Rhaegal with you."

"Wha-No, you can't!"

"Drogon is injured and the Night King knows it, he will keep sending wights and eventually it will be too much. I can't take you with me, so this is the only way I can keep you safe."

"How will you get back with the dead roaming around?"

"I had Rhaegal blaze a track on our way here. I will use it on my way back, the wights won't be able to stop me."

"What about the Night King's dragon?"

Jon was silent for a moment before taking her hand in his. "Viserion is resting now."

That was all she needed to hear before hot tears spilled down her cheeks. Every night since Viserion died, she has had nightmares about that moment. Not only was he taken from her, but he was also bound by the chains of the Night King's dark magic and forced to serve as a mindless slave. Now he was free, and she would finally be able to mourn him properly. "Thank you."

"I need to go now," said Jon, even though that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Come back to me."

"Always."

The run back tested both his endurance and his spirit. Even with his Targaryen blood keeping him safe from the flames, the reduced oxygen level made each step feel like a thousand. The hot air that he did breathe in burned his lungs, but he pressed on, nonetheless. He had to make it back. He had to make a difference. '_Love is the death of duty._' Leaving Rhaegal behind was an act of love, but how many lives would it cost them? His decision could lead to unfathomable consequences and it would all be on his hands. Would he be able to live with that? Perhaps not, but he wouldn't have been able to live with the idea of letting Daenerys die either. He didn't have a choice when Ygritte was taken from him. He still doesn't know which side he would have ultimately chosen but he never wanted to experience that ever again. To bury the woman he loved.

By the time he was half-way back, he saw the state Winterfell was in and it was not looking good. The North Gate was breached, hundreds of dead were pouring in from over the walls, and undead giants were joining the fight as well. Their forces have put a solid dent in the Night King's army, but they were still being overwhelmed. That's when he saw him. The Night King walking at a leisurely pace while his soldiers cleared the path for him. The flames separated them, but Jon could see his back turned to him. He was alone. Perhaps this was his chance, the only one he may ever get. As quietly as he could, he unsheathed Longclaw and prepared to dash at him but before he could even take his first step, the Night King turned around and he froze in his tracks.

With both arms to his side, palms opened up to the sky, the Night King slowly began to raise his hands. Jon recognized the motion he saw at Hardhome, the scene that he would never forget until his dying day. Time felt like it was going at a fraction of its speed. Could he make it in time to stop him? No, it was too late. He would not make it in time, it would be suicide to even try. Gritting his teeth, Jon continued down the path of fire back to Winterfell. As he ran, he saw more and more of his fallen comrades open their eyes. Lost was the different colors of life that were once in them, replaced by a stale and emotionless blue. It didn't take long for all of soldiers that had died for the living to rejoin the Night King's army. But the curious thing was that they didn't chase him. They only watched as he ran past them, heads turning to watch him go. Jon wasn't going to question why and simply focused on getting back to the castle before the Night King changed his mind. He never looked back to see the smile that was on the Great Other's face. Only when the dragonrider made it back to the castle did the Night King give the order to advance once more.

* * *

***Author's Note: Thanks everyone for reading and apologies for the delay! Hope you guys are still enjoying the battle so far and I look forward to reading your reviews!**

**Guest: Thanks for the review, hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!**

**GuitaristGirl963: These encouragements really motivate me to write, so thank you for taking the time to leave a review!**


End file.
